noir heart
by Furiyan
Summary: A drabble series in which the weary, cynical detective Jack is drawn into a web of lies, deceit, mind games and power play; and an equally intelligent woman who may be his downfall...or his salvation. Rated M for the obvious themes. Credit for the cover image goes to stronGyu.
1. one

**_DISCLAIMER:_** _This is a drabble series that utilises characters from the movies "Rise of the Guardians" and "Frozen" - as such, while the plot is mine, the characters featured in this story are not. The "Rise of the Guardians" movie characters belong to Dreamworks, and the "Frozen" movie characters belong to Disney. I own nothing but the plot, a blueberry muffin, some pocket lint and a very dark imagination._

 _For the purposes of this plot: Jack is 29, Elsa is 28. There is implied/past Pitch x Elsa._

 _This drabble series contains adult themes such as profanity, sex, explicit language, graphic descriptions of both violence and death. As such, it is rated M._

 _Each chapter will range between 100-500 words (as is the nature of drabbles)._

* * *

 **noir heart: one**

 _"Good morning Arendelle City! It's a cool fifty degrees Fahrenheit today, with highs of fifty five in the afternoon. The skies are overcast, but don't let that get you cold and down, 'cause it's the six a.m. wake up hour! Here's a little Bruno Mars to get you up and out of bed…"_

With his face pressed into the drool-soaked pillow, Jack snaps awake with a start at the infuriatingly enthusiastic radio host's miserably awful attempt to, like every day, channel Robin Williams in _Good Morning Vietnam_.

His eyes bleary with alcohol-induced sleep, his mouth dry with dehydration and his head pounding like a herd of elephants on speed, he blindly swings his right arm at the _Uptown Funk_ -playing radio, desperate to kill the noise and save his skull.

Instead, his hand accidentally connects with the half-empty bottle of _sleeping-medication-also-known-as-beer_ resting on his nightstand, and sends it flying a good few feet with its contents spraying even further, coating the floor and the edge of his worn bedsheet in warm alcohol.

Five minutes in the land of the living, and he's already making mistakes.

Hell of a start to the day.


	2. two

_chapter word count: 308_

* * *

 **noir heart: two**

One long, gloriously hot shower, painkillers, breakfast of pancakes and mug of industrial strength black coffee later, and he feels a little more human. Well, aside from his pounding hangover. Maybe he shouldn't have had those eight bottles of beer when he arrived home from work last night.

Still, his life is going down the drain anyway – might as well have a little fun along the way, especially when it numbs the memories…and the anger.

Stood in front of the large mirror in his bedroom, he badly adjusts the black necktie over his sky blue shirt (it was always Rapunzel that used to help him with it in the morning, but all that stopped when she divorced him eight months ago) just as the six a.m. segment takes a break for the news.

 _"Arendelle City Police detectives are still no closer to finding the Ashley Madison Ripper than they were six months ago. With at least ten known male victims, there's no telling when the Ripper's bloody reign of terror over this city will end."_

Jack chuckles bitterly as he re-adjusts his necktie for the sixth time. "Ashley Madison Ripper…" he murmurs to himself.

Satisfied that his necktie looks something approaching smart, he strides over to his nightstand, slides open the drawer, retrieves his holstered Glock 9MM and APD badge and lazily knees it shut.

Clipping the holster to the belt of his black pants just at his right hip, he repeats the process with his Detective badge on his left hip and promptly leans over to his bed to pick up his cheap black suit jacket.

He casts one glance at his reflection in the mirror as he slips his arms into the sleeves, and silently remarks on how weary he looks.

"Time to go to work…" he mutters cynically, and marches off towards his apartment door.

* * *

 _fs: noir heart is my attempt at a drabble series, and most chapters will be around this length.  
_ _miki fubuki: Cynical Jack is always fun to write. Hopefully I can keep it up.  
_ _jpbake: Indeed, but drabbles are always short. Testing my ability to say a lot, with little._


	3. three

_chapter word count: 295_

* * *

 **noir heart: three**

Conversations instantly hush and eyes flick up from whatever they were interestedly perusing as Jack pushes open the wood-framed glass door to the open plan APD detective's office. His colleagues – once good friends, now wary acquaintances – watch him suspiciously as he walks towards his desk, far in the opposite left corner of the artificially lit, magnolia painted office. Quiet murmurs follow him like a cloud of agitated bees, deepening his self-conscious desire to isolate himself.

The chair on the other side of his desk is empty – Aster must be working on a case, talking to a witness or questioning a suspect. Not that Jack would know; he warned Aster a long time ago not to openly associate with him so Internal Affairs wouldn't have reason to put the Australian in their sights.

Therefore, while Aster gets the important cases like murders, robberies and narcotics, Jack gets the run-of-the-mill cases like fern thefts, instances of vandalism – or if the folder waiting on his messier side of the desk as he flops down in his chair is anything to go by – graffiti.

"Fucking beat cop level shit…" Jack hisses irritably as he opens the folder and skims disinterestedly through its meagre contents, and he mentally curses how thin the Arendelle P.D. is stretched nowadays. A quarter of the detective unit is on the hunt for the Ashley Madison Ripper, while the rest tackle everything else.

He used to be one of the best – observant, confident, cocky, with a knack for sussing out suspects and a propensity for bending the rules.

One choice, one fatality later and he's stuck in career limbo.

But if you ask him if he regrets that night?

He'll say _"no way in hell"._

* * *

 _lunasnoir: Thank you!  
kira and e-teens: I find it curious that you both posted the exact same thing word-for-word. I can't speak for the real word where it happens a lot more often than we think, but in the context of this story - Jack changed, and Rapunzel couldn't cope with it.  
miki fubuki: ...maybe :P Cop x Something, alright.  
heartonfire: Hai! I'm happy to see you're reading this and enjoying it. Cynical, snarky, melancholy Jack is oddly fun to write. I actually can't wait to get to the good stuff (what's new there? haha)._


	4. four

_chapter word count: 240_

* * *

 **noir heart: four**

Immersed in the oh-so-interesting case of someone spray painting _THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE IS NIGH_ on the side of Arendelle High's main building, he nibbles at his pecan Danish and sips at the pathetic excuse for coffee as he wonders whether or not, in the age of smartphones, selfies, mobile Facebook and the Cloud, the pictorially prophesized Zombie Apocalypse isn't already here.

"High school jock, probably drunk and on a dare." he states with boredom to no-one in particular, and contemptuously tosses the folder back onto his desk.

He loosens his necktie, closes his eyes and relaxes into the hard wooden chair and for extra emphasis of the middle finger to the establishment – _he puts his feet up on the desk._

Such a rebel.

Unfortunately, his posture of blatant revolution rivalling that of the French is disturbed by the appearance of a tall man by the side of his desk, who applies a reprimanding slap to his smartly shoed feet with a thin folder.

Jack opens his eyes with an exaggerated roll, and flicks them up to the emerald orbs of his partner-yet-not, with a head of light grey hair (like Jack, he lost his natural colour early in life), sporting a navy-blue suit with a grey shirt…currently regarding him with hard eyes and a borderline contemptuous sneer.

"Sup, Bunny?" Jack sighs.

"Nothing a bent cop like you should care about, mate."

* * *

 _kira - I know, right? Weird coincidence. Anyway, happy prankster Jack might crop up every now and then. As for what I do, suffice it to say I am a carer.  
e-teens - A clue as to what happened to him will be in "eleven" - and Of Ghosts and Valkyries is not being neglected, I'm just planning Anna's wedding. As for Raising Selene, I am waiting for an inspirational epiphany that's not aimed at either this or OGaV.  
EireneHarmonia - Kind of fanboying here, haha. I had a macchiato once which is probably close to industrial strength. Tiny cup, but it was like someone had condensed five espressos into one. As for your other question - wait and see.  
Lunasnoir - Yeah, I kinda missed cynical Jack. This is kind of noir-ish, so I felt that the cynicism and world-weariness fit.  
heartonfire - Thank you so much! Your reviews mean a lot!_


	5. five

_chapter word count: 341_

* * *

 **noir heart: five**

Aster's voice is gruff, but there's a twinkle in his eyes that tells Jack that his outwardly abrasive manner is for the benefit of everyone else still glancing at them – some even forgoing discretion for unabashed glaring. He knows the truth. He also knows that the resident I.A. detective Hans Southernisle is keeping tabs on Jack.

"Love you too." Jack grunts as he rolls his eyes.

"Whatever. I smell the bar smoke on you from here. Surprised your liver's not packed in." Aster says with a thick edge of sarcasm.

"Aww, you _do_ care." Jack smirks, and it earns him a harder rap on his feet.

"Shut it, you. Anyway, boss lady has a job for you. She wants you to interview a witness."

Jack groans as he rolls his eyes with even greater theatricality, and slumps further into his chair. "Oh, joy. What is it now? An old lady saw a masked man steal her neighbour's prize kale? Maybe Arendelle High's football mascot uniform was found impaled to a goalpost, and the janitor saw someone do it. Oh hell; let's push the boat out – city socialite Cinderella witnessed…"

His tirade of growing sarcastic irritability is swiftly cut off by something that hasn't graced his ears for a year.

"How about the witness to a murder, mate?" Aster snaps grumpily, and his eyes drift slowly to the pathetic excuse of a case folder on Jack's desk, "or would you rather investigate bad artwork?"

Jack sighs exasperatedly, and gives him deadpan. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious, mate."

There's a palpable silence while his cobalt eyes intensely scrutinize Aster's face for any sign of a prank, or a lie, and it's the same silence that once graced the interview rooms back when he was actually a detective, not a pariah.

"This had better not be some bullshit thing Hans has cooked up." Jack growls. Aster shakes his head.

"Nope. Bona fide witness to a bona fide murder. Boss lady wants you to interview her."

Jack blinks. "Her? What's her name?"

"Elsa Black."

* * *

 _A/N: I put this up early to explain a few things to those who read both this and "Of Ghosts and Valkyries". The next chapter is a third of the way to completion and still coming, but recently my wife and I had to say goodbye to our family dog. I'm not saying it for sympathy, simply explaining that as a result, the update to OGaV is going to be a little slower this time around while I come to terms with the loss. Most of my updates will be for this as I have several already written and ready, thereby not requiring much writing at all. I just feel obligated to give you all **something**_ _for being such lovely readers, and...well...generally making me feel good._

 _I hope you all understand._

 _miki fubuki: Well, he's not an ass per se, he's just a bit "what's the point". Nihilistic, I suppose. Thanks for the compliment, I'm actually enjoying this experimentation with drabbles.  
_ _lunasnoir: I'm glad you enjoy it - and you're right, bad coffee is memorably awful.  
Stefalove: Hai! Long time no see! I'm happy to see you're excited about this.  
heartonfire: Exactly! That's what I'm trying to convey. Jack's been through so much, and nearly everyone has turned their back on him, so he doesn't really care anymore.  
e-teens: Indeed, and thank you. As for longer chapters, that's what OGaV is for!_


	6. six

_chapter word count: 324_

* * *

 **noir heart: six**

"Why me? I thought I was assigned all the crappy cases." Jack asks as they walk down the cheaply painted, black and white tiled corridor towards Interview Room A.

"She won't speak to anyone, mate. Literally every cop here has been in that room, and she's kept mum. You're pretty much the last chance we've got of getting a statement. Trust me, though, when I say that if we had any other option than putting _you_ in the room, we'd take it in a heartbeat." he says loudly as he feathers his hand on the door to the observation room, where detectives generally observe the witness or suspect…but with a sly glance over Jack's shoulder, the Australian leans down close to his ear.

"…between you and me, I reckon you could crack this case, even if the boss lady wants you to only do the interview." he murmurs. A blossom of gratitude swells within Jack's heart…which he swiftly boxes, locks and stuffs to the back of his mind for the days when everything goes to hell in a hand-basket.

There is something that bugs him, and the question escapes his lips before Aster has even pushed the door open.

"Why is getting a statement from her so important, that you all come to _me_ for help?"

Aster's resultant smirk rivals anything that he could possibly come up with.

"Because she…" he says as he pushes open the door - peering curiously around the wood frame, Jack spots through the one-way mirror a young woman sat on the other side of the cheap steel desk, with shimmering platinum blonde hair woven into a loose braid over her left shoulder, wearing an ice blue hooded sweater two sizes too big, and blankly staring off to the lower right as though catatonic or simply lost in thought.

"…is a witness to a possible Ashley Madison murder."

* * *

 _thank you all for the kind words. I did not expect them, but deeply appreciated them._

 _"Of Ghosts and Valkyries" is back on track, as is a smut one-shot which I'll never upload after the Jastrid debacle - Whimsical Acumen, you know what I'm talking about!_

 _miki fubuki: Yus. Elsa Black just felt right. Not the pairing, of course.  
sara99: Thank you! Jelsa is always fun to write, though my shipping tastes have branched a little. If I can pull this off, this won't be a typical Jelsa story.  
kira: I'm confused; to which pairing are you referring? Pitch x Elsa or Jack x Elsa? If it's the latter, you're in the _wrong _neighbourhood, haha.  
whimsical acumen x 5: Wow, such love, and from a beta reader as well. I am truly honoured. Yeah, Jack isn't coping well - he and Aster used to be the dynamic detective duo until a particular case screwed everything up for our white-haired detective. I know, right? There's a UK television host who went grey at eighteen, and white a few years later. Boss Lady is coming in a few chapters, I think. The next update reveals what happened...sort of.  
jpbake: That's fine, don't stress. I'm pleased to see you're enjoying it._

 _Thank you all for the reviews and for reading - and yikes, that's a lot of words for responses._


	7. seven

_chapter word count: 271_

* * *

 **noir heart: seven**

"You gotta be kidding me." Jack hisses in disbelief. Aster practically pushes him into the room, and mutters sarcastically as he closes the door behind them.

"Do I look like a bloody comedian? Wait, don't answer that. You'll only say _'no, a kangaroo'_."

Jack chuckles dryly as he moves to the one-way mirror, and folds his arms as he observes Elsa Black with searching eyes. "Yeah, guess I would. So what happened?"

"Well, she wasn't exactly coherent when she called nine-one-one, and made even less sense when we got there, but the preliminary report is: an unknown assailant broke into their home. During a short confrontation Mr Black was stabbed, his throat was slashed and…well…if he could sing, he'd be 'singing soprano', shall we say." Aster explains matter-of-factly, as though reading from a pamphlet.

"And the early theory is that Mrs Black's husband was another Ripper victim, right?" Jack queries over his shoulder while mentally wincing.

"Right. We don't know much beyond that, as she hasn't talked since we took her in." Aster nods his assent as he holds out the manila folder.

Turning to face it, Jack eyes it thoughtfully while his mind automatically tallies Aster's explanation with everything he's learned from sneaking looks at carelessly misplaced case files – which, admittedly, is not a lot, but it's enough to know that Elsa Black is potentially the _only_ person to have ever witnessed a Ripper murder.

But that is an interesting notion in and of itself, and so his reply is a simple…

"Huh."

* * *

 _whitelunanight: I can't wait to write it!  
_ _heartonfire: tehehe I'm making you squeak. That's adorable. Thank you for reading!  
_ _kenzojelsa: Well, I hope you enjoy watching it unfold (if I can pull it off properly, that is!)  
sara99: Thank you so much! It's nice writing different things. Although, it'll still be dark.  
e-teens: boss lady arrives in...twelve or thirteen, I think. Ahaha, some of those questions will be answered much, much later.  
kira: well, I'm glad you're enjoying my stories even if they feature a pairing you dislike. :) Who said anything about an interrogation? ;)_


	8. eight

_chapter word count: 255_

* * *

 **noir heart: eight**

He feels Aster's observant, patient gaze burning through the top of his snow-white head as he ponders his next moves. Sure, he could take on the interview and potentially provide the break that the police needs to catch the Ashley Madison Ripper (though he wouldn't get the credit, and he'd be lying if the knowledge of that fact doesn't sting what's left of his pride), and it'd make a great swansong for his career…but then again, being involved in such a high profile case would only give Hans more of an opportunity to be all over his ass like a bloodthirsty tick.

Having said that: busting the Ashley Madison case wide open would be one hell of a big _"fuck you"_ to Internal Affairs.

He thinks and thinks, tosses up the pros and cons, works out the angles and tries to predict the future…and as he slowly, warily reaches up to take the manila folder from Aster's waiting hand and eyes it with caution, he feels a rush that makes his decision for him.

So, he walks past his bewildered ex-partner, swings open the door, and leaves.

"Where the bloody hell you goin'?" the voice of his ex-partner follows him through the corridor.

"To get my Danish, and another coffee," Jack shouts over his shoulder, and as he turns his head back towards the door leading to the detective's office he mutters, "I can't interview a witness on an empty stomach."

* * *

 _sara99: Thank you! I've had to do a little tweaking of the plot but I hope it stands up.  
_ _whitelunanight: ahahaha! But if I cut the suspension, what will hold my stockings up? Thank you for reading and reviewing, I hope you continue to enjoy it.  
_ _kenzojelsa: I'm glad you like it so far. Here's hoping I can keep your interest.  
e-teens: Well, if you do die of curiosity, make sure satisfaction brings you back.  
jpbake: bingo. or was he?  
heartonfire: yay, I love seeing your reviews. I've got the story pretty much planned out so I don't foresee instances of "derp, wat do I rite", so I shouldn't stop. In any case, I'm thrilled you're enjoying it so much.  
stefalove: Sorry! You might feel better about it later, though.  
kira: Ah. No, it's a witness interview...but that might change..._


	9. nine

_chapter word count: 229_

* * *

 **noir heart: nine**

Disaster. Robbery. Larceny of the highest order.

Grand Theft Pastry.

Some prick has stolen his half-eaten Danish.

His stare is made of pure fire as he regards the now empty disposable plate, holding only crumbs and flakes where a delicious pecan pastry used to exist. Fucking thieves – you leave your desk for a couple of minutes, and some wise guy helps himself to your breakfast.

His eyes flick up to the dozen or so detectives hard at work over their own case files, working out who the culprit could have been. There are no tell-tale crumbs on lapels, and no-one is glancing sheepishly up…or if they think he really _is_ a bent cop, arrogantly smirking at him.

He has a fair idea of who it could be, though, and in the fashion of the prankster he used to be, he loudly and theatrically voices his…pity?

"I really feel sorry for whoever ate my Danish," he drawls as he saunters over to Lucifer's coffee-machine, "I've had a bad case of oral thrush for a week…"

There's a choking sound at the other end of the office, and wearing an evil smirk Jack's head snaps over to where a blond pony-tailed man, with a thin face, flushed cheeks and a ridiculously prominent chin is coughing over his desk.

Ruffnut Thorston.

Bastard.

* * *

 _sara99: Unfortunately, no Danish for Jack :(  
_ _fantasy oh yea: I'm blushing so much. Thank you!  
_ _heartonfire: There was sass? :o Cynical Jack is awesome. I missed writing him in CttT.  
_ _maggietheawesome: *backs away slowly* easy there, tiger. I am glad you're enjoying it so...enthusiastically.  
_ _e-teens: Haha, yeah. Aster's face in my mind was a picture.  
_ _kira: Indeed! Pretty much like RotG Jack anyway. "Aww, Easter in '68 looks so bright...SNOW DAY!"  
_ _jpbake: Sorry, I love to tease. There's a few more before he actually talks to her though._

 _Many thanks to those reading and reviewing!_


	10. ten

_chapter word count: 336_

* * *

 **noir heart: ten**

The picture is, without a doubt, gruesome.

Clipped to a preliminary crime scene report – written by Aster, no surprise there – the lifeless eyes of Kozmotis Black stare off into the top left of the white frame, a choker of crimson adorning his neck and a wide patch of it where his gender-specific machinery used to be, that melts into the similarly coloured pool around him. Just by looking, it's classic Ripper work.

But as Jack leans on the wall between the door frame and the one-way mirror, leafing through the case report held against a blank paper pad between in his right finger and thumb, it feels off somehow. There's a niggling in his brain, telling him that something doesn't add up. Of course, the investigation is just beginning, so he's bound to be wary.

"Time of death?" he asks.

"M.E. says no more than twelve hours ago." Aster answers a little impatiently.

Jack grunts inaudibly as he glances down at a paragraph just below the picture – _Witness described the time of Kozmotis Black's attack as around eight p.m. – further information gathering prevented by the witness becoming incoherent._

So that adds up.

"Fingerprints on the knife and hacksaw?"

"Still waiting, but we both know the Ripper leaves no evidence, so they'll come back-"

"-clean." Jack finishes for him. He sighs, still wondering if it's all worth it in the end. Getting too involved in a case cost him his marriage and his career prospects; he'll be damned if he does it again.

But as he twists to peer at the elegantly beautiful woman in the interview room, with her eyes remaining locked in the same place they were before, there's an uncontrollable urge in his heart.

So he takes a deep breath, picks up his coffee from the small shelf under the window to replace it with the folder, and then opens the door.

Her eyes immediately flick up to meet him, and for a second his breath catches.

* * *

 _jpbake: Damn right.  
_ _sara99: Haha, I think Ruffnut worrying about whether his mouth is going to be furry as hell is revenge enough. Also, your English is quite understandable.:)  
_ _maggietheawesome: Understatement indeed. I'm glad you're liking the drabbles! They're fun and quite relaxing.  
_ _miki fubuki: now you know :p  
_ _heartonfire: hehe. This Jack has shades of Danny Williams from Hawaii Five-0 too, specifically the repartee with Aster. Glad you liked the prank too :P  
_ _e-teens: Grand Theft Cookie!  
_ _kira: Ahahaha, hope it works. I also hope it doesn't backfire._


	11. eleven

_chapter word count: 184_

* * *

 **noir heart: eleven**

Aster watches with interest as Jack does his usual thing – well, it hasn't been usual for the past year, but he's seen it often enough to recognise the signs – and his ex-partner predictably goes through them one by one, under the unbroken gaze of a silent Elsa Black.

First, he forgets to close the door, and mutters an awkward _"one second, sorry!"_ as he rectifies that mistake – showing humbleness.

Second, he puts a pen in his mouth as he tosses his jacket to the floor – showing humanity.

Third, he takes the empty seat and puts his feet up on the desk – showing relaxed confidence.

Three quintessential Frost tactics that Aster clearly remembers as signs that Jack is trying to put the woman at ease…

…or something doesn't add up, and he's trying to lull her into a false sense of security.

Unfortunately, Aster is too far down Nostalgia Boulevard to hear the sound of the door opening and closing behind him, and he practically jumps at the sound of his captain's unimpressed, upper class English voice.

"Well, well."

* * *

 _PSYCHE!_

 _jpbake: Oh there's definitely more.  
whitelunanight: muahahahahaha! Sorry!  
sara99: It's clear and definitely readable. Aww, thank you so much!  
miki fubuki: Um, desensitized by television, mostly. Like Hannibal, or Luther.  
hornedgoddess: haha. This is why I like drabbles - bite-sized story chunks.  
heartonfire: it's mostly curiosity in his heart at the moment.  
kira: :P well, there's more to Kozmotis' death. Sorry about having to make you wait though, muahaha!  
e-teens: Yes, a hacksaw was applied there. Yes it is disturbing :P_

 _Thank you to all my lovely readers, reviewers, followers and favourit...ers. You're all awesome. Stay classy!_


	12. twelve

_chapter word count: 303_

* * *

 **noir heart: twelve**

"I thought Internal Affairs was clear that Detective Frost was not to be involved in any cases until its investigation was complete?"

Captain Jane 'Maleficent' Moors is imperiously frank as always. So much so, that Aster is reluctant to turn and speak to her directly, choosing instead to listen as Jack begins the interview the usual, court-friendly way. His name, date and time of the interview, brief description of the crime…that sort of thing.

Meaning: less than a minute until show time.

"Yeah, you were…" He agrees, before muttering under his breath through gritted teeth, "and it's not I.A. doing the investigation, it's that wanker Southernisle."

"Then why," she inquires condescendingly, as though lecturing a teenager, "is it that I see him interviewing one of the most important witnesses we have ever had?"

Aster chances half a smirk as he says observantly, "You've never seen him in action, have you?"

There's a brief silence in the room, and he takes pride in the knowledge that for the first time, he's got one over the authoritarian new captain. "No," she admits reluctantly, "I can't say that I have. Detective Frost was taken off his cases before I replaced Captain St. North."

"Good man, he was." Aster muses quietly, before sucking in a muted breath and adding, "Mrs Black doesn't want to talk to anyone else, so I made a judgment call – I lied to _him_ , and brought him in without telling _you_. He can do it."

He hears a dark chuckle from behind him, preceding a subtly amused observation. "You've developed quite the disregard for authority, Detective Bunnymund."

"What can I say?" he smirks to himself, and proud victory surges within him as Elsa Black _finally talks_.

"He was a bad influence on me."

* * *

 _Slightly early update 'cause you're all awesome. Next one features Elsa._

 _sara99: seriously blushing here.  
_ _whitelunanight: ta-da! one obvious surprise. what happened to him is actually connected in some way to Hans.  
_ _maggietheawesome: stress sucks. I know it well. Jack will have shades of Danny Williams from Hawaii Five-0 soon.  
_ _wahness: sorry! Teasing is too fun, though.  
_ _kira: it either shows a relaxed state or complete comfort. Or that could be just Jack's disregard for rules and regulations - i.e. not putting your feet on the table.  
_ _hornedgoddess: hai! You guessed right.  
_ _jpbake: you guessed right!  
_ _e-teens: He mostly doesn't give a crap, he's just making himself comfortable - and if he's in a relaxed state, he thinks it'll help Elsa to be in one too.  
_


	13. thirteen

_chapter word count: 537 (oops)_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirteen**

Jack tries and fails to stifle a huge yawn – but as he does so, he watches for Elsa's reaction.

Curiously, she doesn't follow suit – and continues to silently regard him with dull, blank eyes – she _had_ been awake all night after witnessing something horrific, so no surprise there in his mind – framed by a weary, pale face that wears an expression of numb acceptance, rosy lips parted with exhaustion, and a platinum blonde braid that bears more than a few flyaway hairs.

"Sorry," he offers apologetically, "late night."

"That's perfectly fine." she answers quietly with a cracking, slightly raspy voice – and he wonders why it's taken an entire department of detectives, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree for her to finally speak. "There's no need to apologise. I understand."

Jack flashes a half-smile of pity and sympathy. "I bet. I've got to say, you seem to be coping well despite what you've seen. How are you feeling?"

She looks away, and there's a fraction of a second where it looks to Jack like she's going to break down. "I do feel tired. I suspect it hasn't sunk in yet; it's like the images I see in my mind are from someone else's memories, and I am merely a spectator." she speaks in a barely audible monotone. For some reason, Jack has to suppress the small urge to wrap her up in his arms and enable her to cry - but such a gesture isn't exactly on the _How_ _to Interview Widows_ manual.

"The shock will do that to you, unfortunately." he says sympathetically, briefly looking away to scratch behind his right ear before returning his gaze and continuing, "Look, I know things look dark and cold at the moment, and it feels like the entire world's against you...but I want you to know that we'll do everything in our power to get the person responsible."

Her smile widens, and it sings of appreciation and gratitude, but also of numbness. "Thank you. That means so much." she murmurs, nodding slowly in acceptance.

"No problem." he quirks a half-smile. "Listen, I'm sorry, but there's going to be a few hard questions I have to ask, but I need to ask them. Okay?"

She blinks slowly as she nods - and it strikes him how awfully at ease she is. Probably still shock.

"Uh…would you like a drink before we start? Our coffee isn't great, and I think Detective Bunnymund drank all the tea…" he offers, and can practically hear the _'Oi!'_ in his head.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." she murmurs, her lips curling into a weak smile.

"Sure." he says, and stretches theatrically while stifling another yawn before continuing, "So, in your own words, Mrs Black – could you describe what you witnessed last night?"

"In truth – and I am ashamed to say this – nothing." she answers softly, but with a heavy edge of sadness.

"Come again?" Jack raises his brow in dumbfounded surprise, and lifts his pen from the notepad before even the first word has been written.

Well, this is just _fantastic._

* * *

 _fantasy oh yea: Hehe. I felt it was about time I brought ol' Jane Moors back.  
_ _sara99: I don't know about perfect. :P  
_ _miki fubuki: Thank you so much! I always worry about characterisation.  
_ _e-teens: Aster is always fun. Merida isn't actually in the original plan, but story planning is fluidic so, if the plot directly benefits from her presence, she'll be in it.  
_ _kira: Sorry! This make it better? Thank you for the "Trust" review._


	14. fourteen

_chapter word count: 324_

* * *

 **noir heart: fourteen**

"Can you think of anyone who would have reason to kill your husband?" he asks, watching her reaction intently. She looks off to the side once more with a pained frown upon her elegant yet tired features – a clear sign that her mind is active and working – yet slowly shakes her head.

"The reason I ask is that crimes of this nature aren't random – from the facts and what you've told me, someone broke into your home with the intent to murder your husband, so I need to know if there was anyone with a grudge against him." he pushes – there's every chance that this woman, this beautiful, tired, heartbroken woman could provide the break they need to catch the Ripper.

"I'm sorry…I can't." she murmurs.

"Are you sure? Please, Mrs Black…can you think of _anyone?"_ he persists.

"Mr Frost, thinking is all I've done since I arrived here. My mind is empty. I cannot answer your question."

Her voice is pleading and apologetic, her eyes are raw yet lost, and for a moment Jack feels bad for pushing her.

And then the moment ends, when he pretends to see something on the corner of the table, and with a reflexive speed worthy of a cobra, he slams his palm down upon it. A jarring _wham_ echoes through the witness room…which does _not_ help his headache.

"Really sorry about that. I hope I didn't scare you. I just saw a fly…I don't know why, I just felt the urge to-" he blurts anxiously as he _'wipes'_ his hand on his pants.

"It's perfectly alright," she echoes her first words to him, and curls a small, sincere smile, "I completely understand. I dislike flies myself."

He nods his agreement, and makes a mental note at what he witnessed when he slammed his hand down onto the imaginary fly.

She didn't jump.

* * *

 _sara99: Ta-da! There will be more.  
_ _fantasy oh yeah: There will be Elsa-centric drabbles at some point in the near future.  
_ _e-teens: Hai! It just came to me, like the other variations. Besides, I kind of missed Cynical!Jack from CttT.  
_ _hornedgoddess: :P Glad you liked it!  
_ _jpbake: Wait and see.  
_ _miki fubuki: aww, thank you! There will be more snark very soon._

 _Thank you to everyone who follows, favourites, reviews or simply reads this little fic!_


	15. fifteen

_chapter word count: 479_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifteen**

The next hour is spent asking the same damn questions but phrased differently, broken up by the odd few minutes of small talk.

And the answer is always the same – Elsa was upstairs in her husband's study, reading a book when heard sounds of a struggle coming from the living room, and as she left to investigate she heard a gurgle of pain and then the sound of spraying liquid. Frozen in fear by the sound, it wasn't until she heard the front door close that she felt safe enough to leave the safety of the upstairs hallway to investigate, and that was when she saw her husband's body.

Put simply – Elsa's usefulness as a Ripper witness approaches that of a chocolate fireguard.

"One more time, just so I can get it straight in my head." he says exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You didn't see the murder of your husband, you only saw the aftermath."

"That's correct." she answers meekly.

"And you can't think of _anyone_ with a grudge against your husband."

"I am so sorry, Detective Frost. My husband was an imperious, domineering man, but I can't think of anyone who would wish harm upon him." she answers sadly. It still strikes him as odd that she is not in tears – losing a spouse is one thing, but losing them to a murder is another.

She's probably still in shock. Yeah, that's it.

He feigns a yawn once more – something that, again, Elsa doesn't mimic – and vigorously dry wipes his face as though to stave off lethargy.

"Sorry," he offers while exhaling loudly through his nose, "long night, rough morning."

"There's nothing to apologise for, Detective Frost." she answers – and that's when he notices it. Her voice has become smoother, silkier and altogether different from the quiet and meek tones that graced his ears up to that point.

Especially when she adds, "After all, asking the same questions over and over again must be _draining_ for you."

He looks up, and sees her watching him intently. There's a twinkle in her eyes now that's far removed from the dull shine that used to exist, and colour has taken place of the pale complexion. She's looking less and less like the catatonic, grieving Elsa Black he first laid eyes on when Aster opened the door, and more like a confident, focused, intelligent woman.

And as he holds her unbroken gaze – silent, watchful, interested – that's when it clicks.

He utters a hum as he writes three words onto the pad. "Sure you don't want a drink?" he asks, half-smiling knowingly as he underlines them, before he rises to his feet and heads to the door.

A smile curls her lips. "Coffee would be lovely, thank you."

* * *

 _jpbake: You shall see!  
_ _sara99: Heh, well if there is a relationship, it's not going to be conventional.  
_ _k.j. mcdaniel: Possibly. We shall see! Thank you for reviewing!  
_ _fantasy oh yea: Indeed. Thank you for the review!  
_ _whitelunanight: You shall see in the next...five? drabbles.  
_ _kira: Well there are always lots of options and reasons, but sometimes you need to follow your instinct.  
_ _miki fubuki: haha, I love the last lines too. First lines are always the hardest, for some reason. I can spend a day working out what to type first. You might like "seventeen", as it should be a world of snark.  
_ _e-teens: Sorry! It's not intentional, honest! Thank you for reviewing - and you have a very nice and unusual name, for the record. Hope that's not inappropriate._

 _Thank you to everyone for reviewing!_


	16. sixteen

_chapter word count: 326_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixteen**

Jack pauses just before he fully closes the door behind him, and wearing an expression of wary curiosity he flicks his eyes back and forth between Aster, who sports part-anticipation, part-anxiety on his lightly tanned features, and Captain Moors whose sharply-boned cheeks are taut with haughty irritation…yet the normally hard eyes tell a story of interest.

"You didn't know about this, did you?" Jack murmurs as he gently closes the door behind him with a click, and folds his arms defensively.

'Maleficent' slowly shakes her head, her gaze as unwavering as the victory rolls in her raven-black hair. "No, I did not."

Jack sticks a tongue into his cheek as he shoots a narrow-eyed look at his ex-partner, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to undermine his anger. "I don't know whether to punch you in the face for lying to me," he drawls lazily, "or be impressed that you actually defied the boss for once, Mr Rules and Regulations."

"Yeah well," Aster shrugs with a sigh that Jack _knows_ is born of relief, "like I said to _o-captain-my-captain_ , you're a bad influence on me. So," he pauses as his green eyes flick down to the notepad poking out of Jack's folded arms, "whatcha got?"

Jack hesitates briefly – he's still annoyed as hell that Aster probably bullshitted about needing his skills – but with a disinterested _tch_ he eventually decides to put the increasingly curious Australian out of his misery, and tosses the notepad at him with a little more force than necessary.

There's not much on the small sheets anyway, just a few questions and answers that were scribbled and summarily crossed out, a couple of doodles and a small sketch of a fairy with an arrow through its head, but the most important words are underlined at the bottom – three of them, to be exact.

 _SHE DID IT_

* * *

 _sara99: Hah, yeah. I can't wait to update "eighteen".  
k j mcdaniel: Ouch. You're breaking OGaV!Pitch's heart.  
_ _durgess: Thank you so much! It's really fun to write these.  
_ _suresnowflake: I don't mean to! *fumbles for defibrillators.  
_ _stefalove: Maybe, maybe not.  
_ _fantasy oh yea: It's in the works. I got my inspiration and drive back. Still slow, but it's coming.  
hornedgoddess: Indeed, the next few chapters are (hopefully) a game changer.  
heartonfire: I'm curious to hear your hunch, though you can't PM me. Curses. I like your thinking though! Wonder if the next few updates will either solidify or discount your theories...  
e-teens: :D that's awesome. Thank you so much. Hai to you both.  
miki fubuki: yay, high praise! Thank you!_


	17. seventeen

_chapter word count: 281_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventeen**

"What do you mean by that?" Aster asks in complete incomprehension as he passes the notepad to Captain Moors' waiting hands. Jack rolls his eyes, and finds he's completely unable to bite back a sarcastic jab.

"What do I mean by that? What, you can't read English, ya freaking wombat?" he quips, gesturing lamely between his ex-partner and the pad in Captain Moors' hand.

"Of course I can read English, you bloody idiot!"

"Great! I wasn't sure 'cause, you know, you're asking me what I meant by 'she did it'". Jack continues, and there's the ghost of a smirk that lights up his face as a result of the sudden wave of nostalgia.

"Were you always so offensive, Detective Frost?" Captain Moors asks, her brow high with…is that _amusement_ in her normally intimidatingly striking visage?

"Oh, this is nothing," Aster drawls, grinning proudly, "Back in the day, Jack and I used to bicker like an old married couple all the time."

"Yeah, and you're the one who got married first, you bastard, you were supposed to propose to _me._ " Jack grunts with feigned bitterness.

"…and he's back." Aster chuckles.

"From outer space." Jack deadpans.

For a few fleeting moments, Jack almost believes him. The repartee, the snark-infested waters…it's just like old times. Trading barbs in the Impala.

But the darkness, the cold in his heart reminds him that it's all ancient history, buried under case reports of still-missing children, court hearings, divorce papers and heartache.

He knows there's almost no laughter, no joy, no _fight_ in him anymore.

Everything else is just…putting on a show.

* * *

 _jpbake: For some reason, when I read your review, it was perfectly timed with when I was watching Age of Ultron, when Captain America said "Language!"  
_ _Guest: Mmmhm. Next update explains his reasoning (hopefully).  
_ _heartonfire: Haha, well we'll see what you think over the next few chapters. Hope you liked this one.  
_ _stefalove: I admit it, I'm an evil teaser.  
_ _wahness: It's not going to be simple, hopefully the next few updates will reinforce that. This isn't a normal Jelsa story (hopefully).  
_ _fantasy oh yea: Well, we'll see what happens when Jack talks to her again.  
_ _k j mcdaniel: I suppose it was fairly obvious. You did indeed call it, however!  
_ _vichidalgo: You're breaking the first rule of Fight Club, by the way. And no, this isn't a Tyler Durden scenario.  
_ _e-teens: like I said to wahness, this isn't a normal Jelsa story. All will be explained (hopefully satisfactorily) in time._


	18. eighteen

_chapter word count: 485_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighteen**

"Back to the witness: how'd you figure that, mate?" inquires Aster, frowning in bemusement as he passes the pad over to Captain Moors, who promptly cocks a _'this should be good'_ eyebrow of doubt.

Jack shrugs, and languidly paces a few steps before sighing. "I dunno. It's just a feeling. I've had it ever since you said she won't talk to anyone – you'd think if your husband's been murdered, you'd be chomping at the bit to tell the first detective everything you know. It's like she's…waiting."

"She's most likely still in shock." Captain Moors scoffs.

"Possibly. I reckon she's waiting for us to catch up, to come to the same conclusion she's already come to." Jack shrugs, and chances a glimpse of the witness-slash-suspect – and frowns in curiosity as he watches her pull off the sweater to reveal a stunning, black Bardot dress. His ex-partner just noticed it too, judging by the quiet wolf-whistle that graces his ears.

 _Well, that's new._

"Which is?" Aster inquires, his eyes lingering on Elsa.

Jack quirks his lips to the right, and gestures towards the window. "Well, firstly, who wears an evening dress to read? Don't get me wrong, she looks stunning…but I wonder if that's the point. It's like she's saying _"look at me"._ I mean, what do women think when they see an evening dress? _'That is so beautiful'_. Men, it's _'she looks hot in that'…_ and that's what she wants. _"_

He thoughtfully scratches his jaw with his left finger as he continues, "Second, it's too convenient. Mr Black is brutally murdered and she doesn't see a thing – and so far, a complete lack of evidence other than what points us to the Ripper…and even _that's_ all wrong. The Ripper is about control, domination, superiority. They wouldn't risk being seen by a potential witness, they wouldn't be drawn into a fight, wouldn't stab the victim and sure as hell wouldn't use a hacksaw. "

"Maybe the Ripper has changed their M.O. to screw with us." Aster muses openly.

Jack quirks his mouth to the left as he wipes across it with his palm, his eyes solely fixed upon his witness-slash-suspect as he sways back and forth on his heels. "Maybe," he exhales, "but I'm not sure. I think she did it, and she _knows_ that's what I think. That's why her whole demeanour changed. She knows there's nothing we can pin on her, and everything we can pin on the Ripper. She's in complete control and is putting on a show. This is her affirmation, her grand performance, her design. This is her victory. She's waiting for us to conclude that she committed the perfect murder."

* * *

 _jpbake: Hope your eulogy is good, haha. One more chapter after this one, then it's back to Jack and Elsa.  
_ _hornedgoddess: She'll pop up here and there :P  
_ _miki fubuki: yep. He's damaged. Very much so._ _  
e-teens: breadcrumbs. Glad you liked the snark :P  
heartonfire: didn't expect it to be thought provoking, but I'm pleased it was. And you're right, we're all putting on a show one way or another._

 _early update 'cause I love y'all._


	19. nineteen

_chapter word count: 312_

* * *

 **noir heart: nineteen**

There's a long beat of silence where his words are assimilated, meditated on and – in Captain Moors' case – discarded with a subtly derisive huff.

"Fascinating hypothesis, Detective Frost," she drawls with a tone of icy doubt, "but it's less what you think and more what you can _prove."_

"No shit, right?" Jack snaps sarcastically, "I know the score. We can't arrest her 'cause the evidence is non-existent, even if we _did_ then her lawyer would have a field day with us, and if by some miracle it went to trial, there's more _'reasonable doubt'_ " he pauses to air-quote, "than if you told me Justin Bieber was talented."

He thinks on it for a second as he gazes upon the forgotten case report under the window – with no evidence to speak of that ties her to the crime, nothing except his suspicions, gut feelings and the almost _playful_ twinkle in her eyes, the only way he'd be able to prove it is if she 'accidentally' confessed – and he has the distinct idea that she is _far_ too good for that.

However, there's strange feeling of curiosity, of _intrigue._ Why him? Why was it that, of all the detectives in the unit, she only responded to and – in her own way – revealed herself to him?

He checks his watch and, noting that there's half an hour before they have to let her go, he turns on a dime and strides toward the door.

"Where are you goin' _now_ , mate?" Aster groans behind him. With his left hand resting on the handle, Jack turns and answers curtly, "The witness requested a coffee, didn't she?" before opening the door and sweeping out, deeply conscious of the remaining time.

Time he'd like to spend drinking coffee, talking, and _hopefully_ getting to know the _real_ Elsa Black.

* * *

 _next up is some more Jack and Elsa, and everything changes._

 _jpbake: Probably find out soon, if the next few chapters don't give you an idea.  
miki fubuki: haha, yeah. Sexy thing indeed.  
sara99: indeed! Can't wait until tomorrow's update, 'cause I'm having so much fun with this Elsa.  
heartonfire: I do too! Yeah, there's a reason for it. Always a reason. Haha, I'll try not to stop :P  
k j mcdaniel: I have never seen Gone Girl, nor read the book from which it was adapted.  
durgess: See above :P No, this was inspired by something completely different. Yay for ambiguity!  
stefalove: Thank you!  
guest: Chain post? And thank you.  
vichidalgo: Nope, it isn't that scenario. Didn't say whether or not she was the killer, though :p Next few chapters should answer that for you. As for Raising Selene, an update is currently in the works.  
hornedgoddess: yay for love, love is all around! Kinda need it in this fic.  
kira: Some killers do. Some killers start out with a particular style and then grow. Other killers change their M.O.s to screw with the police, seeing it as a sort of game._

 _Right, with Gone Girl being mentioned twice (I have not seen or read it, nor have I had the desire to) but I'd like to share the inspiration for "noir heart". There's a television series called "Luther" which was on the BBC (and BBC America) and **possibly**_ _on Netflix. There was a relationship between the titular character and someone called Alice Morgan (who is amazing), which was never really expanded upon. I was inspired by "Luther" to create a Jelsa fic with my own slant upon it._

 _Love y'all!_


	20. twenty

_chapter word count: 362_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty**

Her entire posture has changed since he left – where once her hands were hidden under the table, now they're palms-down on the surface. Her back is straight; she looks elegant, poised, self-aware, open…and _beautiful._

She greets him with a polite and silky "Welcome back, Detective Frost."

He returns her warm smile with one of his own that screams of knowing, and once his posterior meets the seat of his chair he places a coffee in front of her with his left hand. "Thanks." he says in an effort to appear non-committal, "The old trope that detectives only drink black coffee is alive and well, I'm afraid, so there wasn't any sugar."

Her eyes remain upon him with that same twinkle as when he left, even as she lifts the cup to her lips and languidly sips. "That's perfectly fine. After all, we can't have everything we want, can we?"

"No," he sighs, and there's the ghost of a smirk that dances upon his features, "we can't. I meant to ask earlier, is the temperature okay? Not too chilly?"

"I find the cold to be quite agreeable, actually." she answers as she places her cup back on the table, and strokes it with a finger.

"Great. Thought I'd ask – it helps keep people alert, so we usually keep it on the low side when interviewing witnesses." he explains, and can't help but enunciate the last word. Her eyes crinkle with another thin smile – but it's different now. There's an amused edge to it.

"Witnesses?" she repeats, and then cocks her head slightly, "or suspects?"

He utters single grunt. "Depends on what side of the table you're on, I guess." he muses.

"Indeed it does." she says in that soft, silky tone of hers sounds almost… _luring._ Sipping from her coffee once more, she places it back before continuing, "I know that it's not common police procedure for the witness to ask questions, but I can't resist – precisely what is it that makes you think I am a suspect?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that."

* * *

 _jpbake: Depends. Might just be what it says on the tin. We shall see :P  
_ _e-teens: The definition of the perfect murder is hazy, but the end result of getting away with it is usually the same, no? I loved the Mentalist, but stopped watching it after...can't remember, but never really missed it. Thanks for the non-recommendation, haha.  
heartonfire: Yeah, he's curious. Intellectually, at least. Thanks very much! And yeah, I know. With essentially three fics on the go, plus a planned music-related five shot, I'm very conscious of potential burnout, so I'm probably going to push back noir heart updates to every two or three days - I have lots of chapters readily written and waiting, so it gives me a buffer. Thanks for your concern.  
kira: Haha, another Bieber-hater! I felt so much joy when he was shot in CSI. Hmm, interrogation, or battle of wills?  
miki fubuki: Silence of the Lambs is love. Shame "Hannibal" was cancelled. Arousing him mentally, maybe. Later on, who knows?_

 _The Elsa in this, I'm really enjoying writing. I hope you all do too. She's different to your usual Elsa :P_


	21. twenty-one

_chapter word count: 288_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-one**

"All things being equal," Jack sighs, reciting a common phrase, "the simplest solution is the best solution."

Her lips quirk into half a smile. "Ockham's Razor."

"Bingo." he says, gesturing towards her with his coffee cup, which he places upon the table before rising to his feet, moving to the lean against the wall behind her, and folding his arms as he burns his eyes into the back of her head. "You see, I could go round and round in my head, figuring out different ways this could have gone down. It could be the Ripper. It could be a Ripper _copycat_ …"

"But you don't subscribe to that hypothesis, do you?" she prompts him softly.

"No, 'cause here's the thing." He says, and there's a strange flicker of invigoration within him as he continues, "we know there's no sign of forced entry, no defensive wounds on the deceased, the murder weapon is _there_ but there's no prints, and we also _know_ the only other person in the house," he pauses, taking the time to re-seat himself across her and regard her interestedly, "was you, so the _'simplest solution'_ to this little puzzle, is that you killed your husband."

"Fascinating theory, Jack. How did you arrive at such a conclusion?" she asks as she laces her fingers around her cup, frowning curiously in a way that Jack has a feeling is feigned.

"Other than the rather convenient presence of the Ashley Madison Ripper's methods – there's no evidence of an intruder."

"Ah, but the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, is it?" she points out, and Jack has the sneaking suspicion that she _knows_ she has checkmated him there.

* * *

 _k j mcdaniel: haha, she is very calm isn't she.  
jpbake: Well, we'll have to find out, won't we?  
e-teens: haha, yeah.  
kira: Oh really?  
oninoko: hai! Not a Ripper case, a different one. You haven't missed anything, but answers to those questions will be revealed along the storyline...I think...*dives into plot bin* Oh hey, I thought I lost that lollipop...  
lovingit: Maybe she does...maybe she doesn't. All shall be revealed under this black cloth I conveniently have nearby...oh wait, that's my lunch._

 _Thank all of you for the reviews, and for reading this bite-sized dark fic!_


	22. twenty-two

_chapter word count: 262_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-two**

"You're right, it's not." He reluctantly concedes the point.

"So…" she begins, and briefly turns her head toward the table before flicking her eyes back up to him, "have we reached the stage of the interview where there is a question as to whether I hated my late husband?"

"If you want." he grunts noncommittally.

There's a dark expression that flashes across her face before she opens her mouth, yet her words are every bit as calm and emotion-free as before. "My husband was a dictatorial man; he liked to engender a sense of fear within anyone in his circle of influence, including me, and he had numerous methods of eliciting that fear. So, did I hate him? Absolutely. Did I kill him?" she pauses, only to offer the ghost of a smile as she slowly shakes her head, "absolutely not."

"Think you can prove that?" he asks, cocking a suspicious eyebrow.

"No. As the creator of the theory, the burden of proof entirely upon you – I cannot prove my innocence just like you cannot prove my supposed culpability." Elsa says smoothly.

"What makes you say that?" Jack asks, and he realises that it's not a conversation any more…it's a _game._

"If the police truly believed I am who you think I am, and you had evidence to support that belief, surely I would be in…" she pauses, only to rather pointedly glance down to roughly where his crotch is hidden under the table and back up to his eyes with a racy expression, "handcuffs?"

* * *

 _lunasnoir: yay! Banter is so fun to write, especially between these two.  
miki fubuki: um, think I have some glue around here somewhere...*dives into plot bin, tosses out jelsa comedy oneshot* nope, that's not it...*tosses out a Gipsy Danger figurine* sweet! Been looking for that for ages!  
heartonfire: does that make me an enabler? I have no idea how I'm able to draw people in, but if it happens, then awesome.  
hornedgoddess: It's been advertised on Syfy (lol) here.  
stefalove: Oh, she gets flirtier.  
oninoko: :D you got it. _

_breaking news! Well, fracturing I suppose. Possibly hairline crack. Maybe a mild shudder...ANYWAY, OGaV chapter 24 "Alone in a Crowded Room" is almost done!_


	23. twenty-three

_chapter word count:358_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-three**

Jack exhales deeply through his nose, venting out resignation at the fact that, essentially, he has lost the game before it even started. Relaxing into his chair, he laces his fingers behind his head as he regards Elsa with studious eyes. "I probably won't be able to prove you did it, will I?"

"I imagine you'll try." she murmurs, and just as she raises her cup to her lips there's a glint in his eyes that's almost as though she's _daring_ him.

"But I'll fail. See, you were there during the crime, and yet not – and all I have to go on is a screwed-up imitation of one of the most meticulous, careful serial killers I've ever seen. It's quite brilliant, actually."

"Is that a compliment?" she half-smiles with slightly narrowed eyes, cocking her head just an inch.

"To whom, Elsa; you, or the Ripper?"

"To whomever you wish, Jack."

"To you, then." he answers, but a menacing darkness crosses his eyes as, with his fingers still entwined together, he rests his arms on the table and leans closer toward her. Intimidating the indomitable. "Here's the thing – brilliance is just like a candle: it fades over time. Sooner or later, people slip up. They make mistakes, and then…" He clicks his fingers. "Boom."

Elsa, however, is evidently unmoved by his warning. The smile she wears upon her porcelain features still remains – and has quite possibly widened. "If I am who you believe me to be, emphasis on 'if'…what makes you think I won't resist the, ah, temptation?"

"Well, that's the thing – I don't think you _can_ resist. I think you're a malignant narcissist sociopath." he states bluntly, watching for her reaction.

It's not what he expects, to say the least.

Leaning forward enough to put her face within a foot of his, she laces her fingers together and smirks playfully, just before a small bulge appears in her cheek for a moment. "Oh my, Jack. That's quite a mouthful."

The heat that subsequently ignites his cheeks can fuck right off.

* * *

 _this is kind of the point where you lovely readers decide whether to continue with this story or not._

 _hornedgoddess: hurhurhur. handcuffs.  
oninoko: I like your thinking. Probably because I was thinking the same thing.  
jpbake: I pretty much know the story of Gone Girl anyway, thanks to some wiki-wandering and Anna Kendrick spoiling it during the Oscars.  
k j mcdaniel: Oh, she's clever alright. Hopefully. Hoping I've pulled it off.  
stefalove: I'm having so much fun with this Elsa. Always enjoyable to take a character in a different direction.  
heartonfire: :D *insert heart emote here*_


	24. twenty-four

_chapter word count: 377_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-four**

He's had enough of her games.

Offering her nothing more than rolled eyes and a curt grunt, he brusquely rises from his chair and exits the room to be met with Captain Moor's cocked eyebrow of _not-impressed,_ and Aster's amused and slightly cocky smirk – and decides it's not worth inquiring into their expressions.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Aster slowly shakes his head, chuckling slyly. "Either she did it, or you just pulled one of the kookiest witnesses ever, mate."

"I must admit," Captain Moors adds, "I was under the impression she was sizing you up, too."

"S'cause she was." Jack shrugs as he scratches his temple, "she was trying to work out if I was worth her time and attention."

"Is that what malignant whatsits do?" Aster frowns, and adds "What makes you think that's what she is, anyway?"

"She's got zero empathy. She has no remorse for her husband's murder. Did you notice how she didn't yawn when I did? Yawning's infectious—see?" he gestures between them, as both Aster and Captain Moors valiantly stifle yawns of their own. "Even talking about it sets one off, but not for her. On top of that, she didn't jump when I slammed the table. Sociopaths are insanely hard to scare – pun intended."

"And you gleaned all that from one interview?" Captain Moors gives him incredulous.

"Pretty much—'cause I've seen it once before." He shrugs, and then thumbs back to the closed door. "She did it."

"Be that as it may," Captain Moors declares with an air of superiority, "there's nothing we can charge her with, so Kozmotis Black's homicide is going to be treated as a Ripper case."

"Bullshit." Aster snaps irritably.

"Prove it then. Find me a smoking gun…or knife, in this case. Put the knife in _her_ hands, or connect her inextricably to the crime. Until you can do that – let her go, and take her home." She announces tersely, before sweeping haughtily out of the room.

Jack doesn't know why it comes out so easily, but it does nevertheless – and in a strange way, there's a flicker of excitement within him.

"I'll do it."

* * *

 _...let the Jelsa begin._

 _heartonfire: I rarely blow my own trumpet but I really did like that ending. Thank you for your kind words :)  
k j mcdaniel: you may be right, you may be wrong. We'll just have to see how things play out.  
lunasnoir: She's so much fun to write. So much fun.  
e-teens: at the start of the interview, during Aster's PoV. He states his name, the date, the witnesses name etc.  
kira: we shall see - and Merida is a maybe.  
miki fubuki: foreplay, borderline verbal domination :D  
jpbake: She's more of a Grey Elsa, if that makes sense.  
ekalfwons: Hai! Thank you for reviewing! Yeah, I tried to make her different, but to stay within the confines of "OOC" (though, pretty sure I'm well out of the OOC zone). Self-assured, confident, and very aware of what to say (and what NOT to say).  
hornedgoddess: Naughty Elsa indeed.  
stefalove: Hell yes. Chemistry and other things.  
riverfall: Hai! Welcome to the story - and the first thing I thought of when you said "dark, smooth Elsa" was chocolate. Now I want chocolate.  
oninoko: Ah, Indominus Rex. Clever little (big?) thing. And yeah she does, haha._


	25. twenty-five

_chapter word count: 291_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-five**

"You're free to go, Mrs Black."

He watches out of the corner of his eye as she rises from the chair and laces those dainty – _murderous –_ fingers around the hooded sweater, and he notices she's not smiling any more. Perhaps the façade is back up.

At least, until she walks towards the door and stands in front of him – seven inches taller than her, he can easily look down into her eyes where that playful twinkle still holds sway.

"I enjoyed our chat." she says slyly.

"It was pretty fun, sure. Remember what I said though," He says, and leans his head closer in an attempt to appear threatening, "sooner or later, everyone makes mistakes. Every time."

She frowns—pouts and the murmuring words that escape her lips are almost pitying. "Surely that must be tedious for someone as…" she pauses, and there's an expression that leaves him convinced she is mocking him, "observant and clever as you?"

He says nothing, choosing instead to simply regard her with hard, uncompromising eyes – give someone like Elsa Black a way into your psyche, a way to manipulate and control you like a hapless marionette, and you're done for.

He's seen it before.

So, he doesn't intend to give her a single _thing._

The platinum blonde utters a _hum_ , whether it's vague or not Jack doesn't know – but there's a moment where her eyes narrow just a micron, and her lips curl just an inch at the same time as she makes the non-committal noise, and it leaves the snow-haired detective with the distinct feeling that whatever she was looking for within him?

Whether he allowed it or not, she just found it.

* * *

 _miki fubuki: Foreplay is win.  
_ _jpbake: Elsa's house is still a crime scene, but that might be his intent, yes.  
_ _lunasnoir: Yay! I try and go for unique (probably fail in most respects).  
_ _hornedgoddess: And thank YOU very much for reading my stories!  
_ _heartonfire: We'll find out soon enough.  
_ _k.j. mcdaniel: Dammit, there's a cliche :/ I hate it when that happens.  
_ _oninoko: Indeed! As for Bunny...maybe.  
_ _stefalove: bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy - here it is!_


	26. twenty-six

_chapter word count: 401_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-six**

Jack cuts the Impala's engine, bringing the growling mechanical beast to a sudden halt just outside of a modest two-bedroomed house near the city limits. It's a curious place; far removed from the old-fashioned, slightly gothic exterior of Mr Black's less-than-humble (rich bastard) abode.

In fact, it's closer to a cottage or Hobbit hole than anything. For average-sized people, obviously.

"My sister's house." Elsa announces like it's nothing, jarring Jack's attention from the potted pansies by the green front door. "With my husband's house…off-limits, I have nowhere else to go. She has stated that I am welcome there at any time of distress – I think today qualifies, don't you?"

Her statement is more matter-of-fact than anything, and it drives home just how detached Elsa is from the whole thing – her husband was supposedly murdered by one of the most elusive serial killers in the country, and she's barely fazed by it.

Truth be told, Jack's mind isn't really on her nor the laughably weak case against her (in his head, technically). Thirty minutes previously, whilst fumbling for the Impala's keys in his jacket, he happened upon a circular object that set his memories ablaze of happier days, of sun-kissed golden blonde hair, green eyes and innocent wonder. He had intended to poke a little more into Elsa to try and glean something, but as soon as his fingers touched the gold wedding band all thoughts of the platinum blonde were replaced with his ex-wife.

"Jack?"

Elsa's voice jars him once more from a nostalgic reverie, and he slowly drifts his eyes from the rosebush to the left of the path to the front door, to the pair of ice-blue eyes gazing at him with an unwavering intensity.

"What?" he says blankly.

"Would you like to come in?" she asks.

He eyes her carefully, watching for any sort of reaction beyond the excellent poker face – and it reminds him precisely why he volunteered to be a glorified cab driver in the first place.

Yet, the feeling of the ring under his fingertips inexorably draws him to the past, and he decides there's one thing he needs to do first.

"Sure," he shrugs non-committally before opening his door, "I just need to make a call."

* * *

 _yup, Impala. Call-back to CttT._

 _oninoko: you are freaking adorable. *salutes*  
e-teens: Oh, like what?  
k.j. mcdaniel: :/ ouch. As for your question, a man.  
lunasnoir: :D thanks. I do intend to reveal it soon, or at least part of it, but it hit Jack where it hurts and kept pummelling.  
jpbake: Oh, there's more. Yeah, that was my intention :D  
yuyui hime: Thanks so much! Happy you're enjoying it.  
ekalfwons: Thanks for that review, it was awesome to read!  
stefalove: Really? Wow, I didn't expect those sentences to do that._


	27. twenty-seven

_chapter word count: 340_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-seven**

He waits until the front door closes behind her – though, he is darkly amused at her attempt to leave the door slightly ajar to eavesdrop, which was rectified by a rather pointed clearing of his throat – before he taps a certain contact on his smartphone.

One he hasn't called in _months_ , so to say he waits with a deep sense of trepidation isn't too far from the truth. As the dial tone graces his ears like an acoustic gatekeeper – it will either connect, or it won't, he has no control of it either way – he leans his posterior against the Impala's hood while glancing up at the window overlooking the front yard, where Elsa Black efficiently moves back and forth, engaged in a task he can't quite see.

Probably disposing of a body, he notes morbidly.

He starts when the call finally connects with an emotionally deafening click, and there's a moment when his heart shoots to his throat, his lungs still and a thin layer of moisture takes pride of place in his palms.

And his fingers reach into his suit jacket pocket and fondle the wedding ring.

 _"Hello, Jack! It's been a while."_

Her voice is as bright as he remembered it, just like her. Full of the joys of spring, of innocence and wonder. Everything he tried to protect in his career, but slowly drained from her.

Maybe he's better now. Maybe that's why, instead of his voice belonging to the Jack whose cynicism, disillusionment and snark has helped him pull through each day, or the Jack whose cunning, observant and analytical mind allowed him to see through an act of grief and draw out the darkness within an ethereally beautiful blonde…

…his voice belongs to a little boy lost, a bright and cheery young detective before the days of kidnapped children, taunting letters and gravity – when he truly believed that love exalts, heals and strengthens all.

The last vestige of positivity in his jaded heart.

"Hey, Rapunzel."

* * *

 _theonlyreason: wooooaaaaah that's a lot of reviews! Thanks! :D As for your most recent one, the next update should shed some more light.  
_ _yuyui hime: I'm really pleased you're enjoying it so much!  
_ _oninoko: indeed, but you know what's about to happen :P As for the Impala, YES. That car is ALL kinds of sexy - also, Jack and Hiccup or Jack and Bunny Supernatural AU?  
_ _k.j. mcdaniel: you didn't - and you're right. There's nothing new under the sun, nowadays.  
_ _jpbake: yup, she is. Chapter 2 mentions it (albeit briefly).  
_ _stefalove: I kinda miss it too. S'why I have this Jack driving an Impala, as a sort of nod to it._

 _um...yeah. Still working on OGaV - "What You Are in the Dark", but due to a severe lack of motivation it's taking its time as well as a rather tough family issue. Also, shout-out to OniNoKo for generally being awesome._


	28. twenty-eight

_chapter word count: 447_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty eight**

 _"How…uh…how's it going?"_

Her voice attempts a breezy lilt, but he can easily detect the waver in her words without needing the nervous _'uh'_.

"Good, actually. New case. In fact I'm not really on it, so…everything's pretty easy-you?" he answers, and he can't help but curl a small smile. It's been too long since he heard her voice, and it's…nice.

 _"Good, good. No, that's good."_ she babbles, and the little flicker of disquiet becomes a candle. _"I'm happy…for you. I'm doing okay, actually. Really good."_

He tries to ignore the way she's almost tripping over her words, like she doesn't know what to say in his presence. Is it that bad? He doesn't feel like a pressure-sensitive bomb. Sure, he's the equivalent of a sentient vase that's trying to mend itself, and the progress is so slow that it looks to the untrained eye that nothing has changed, but…

"Oh great. I'm glad to hear it…"

There's a pause on the line, a pregnant pause where he doesn't know what to say – or rather, he _does_ and he's trying to bring himself to say it – and she's either waiting for something to react to or is unable to speak herself.

"Listen…I was wondering…"

 _"Yes, Jack?"_

"I know we…I know…I know we had the divorce and everything, and, well…" he hesitates for a moment while his free hand – trembling slightly – dives into his pocket and pulls out the wedding ring. "I was just wondering if you…if you wanted to…get a coffee sometime? I mean…"

 _"Jack…"_ she tries to interrupt him, but he's on a roll. He needs this.

"I mean…I know it went bad but…I'm better now-"

 _Liar,_ a jaded voice in his head tells him.

"-and I just…wanted to know if you were open to…maybe starting again? You and me?" he says awkwardly as he stares longingly at the ring, and his face manifests an expression akin to childlike hope and borderline prayer.

Then it falls.

 _"I'm sorry, Jack. I can't."_

His heart stills in his chest, and the world comes to a standstill, bringing with it despondency unlike nothing he's ever felt.

 _"You see…I moved away…and, well, I can't go back to how it was. That job took you apart and…I just…I can't keep trying to put you back together. I'm so sorry, Jack."_

Whatever's left in his heart that still held on to sunshine and love…breaks.

* * *

 _miki fubuki: shot in the feels, and I'm to blame. *bon jovi rock out*  
_ _jpbake: you shall have to wait and see.  
_ _theonlyreason: thank you so much!  
_ _guest: yeeeeeessss!  
_ _e-teens: If you want to get technical, it was Jack's fault.  
_ _ekalfwons: Swing and a miss! They don't have a child together.  
_ _hornedgoddess: Nah, you spelled(spelt?) it right. Glad you're enjoying it.  
_ _yuyui hime: yes! Rapunzel!  
_ _stefalove: Yeah - on the list of ships that Jack is a part of, Jackunzel is one that I can see happening. Not in this story, obviously.  
_ _oninoko: Oh, they would bicker so much. Eeh, kinda. And you are important and accomplished and stuffs!_

 _ **right, important stuff here: one, Rapunzel isn't a bad person in this.  
**_ _ **Two: I'm taking a break from writing - more details in my profile. The other people with whom I have talked at length about the issues I'm going through know who they are, and I thank them for it.**_


	29. twenty-nine

_chapter word count: 250_

* * *

 **noir heart: twenty-nine**

As Jack knocks on the door, he swallows down the last of his heartache and assumes his best poker face, wondering what the point is. Rapunzel made her stance immaculately clear, and if he's honest he can't fault her for it – even if it means he's now fully broken inside. All he did when he called her was to further flay his heart with truth.

 _Although, your entire career revolves around truth…_ says a bitter voice in his head.

In an effort to purge his mind of his _definitely_ ex-wife and return to the here and now, he pictures the platinum blonde in his mind's eye; sat on the other side of a steel table, with eyes that both study and watch him. He has to admit, he finds her to be a little intellectually interesting, if not invigorating.

She's a puzzle with a French braid – one that opens the door wide merely a few seconds after knocking.

"Ah, Jack." She smiles, "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to simply drive off."

"What if I did?" he asks challengingly as she steps aside to let him in.

"I'd be disappointed," she sighs and lightly pouts with ever-so-slightly hooded eyes as he passes her, "possibly inconsolable."

Their eyes lock as he stands a little too close for his liking, his cobalt blues radiating suspicion while hers convey honesty…

…but he can't tell if she's joking or not.

* * *

 _I'm not fully back - I have a reservoir of noir heart updates, so thought I'd chuck one up. Will explain a little more after the review replies._

 _stefalove: here we are. next chapter.  
_ _lunasnoir: yeah, I was surprised to say the least. Shows how much I enjoy writing.  
_ _jpbake: yeah, but it had to happen eventually. It was either now, or I force myself to continue, get sick of writing and then walk away permanently.  
_ _zero-xxx: holy crap, didn't expect to see you reviewing this. Yeah, Jack does go through some crap. Which is interesting.  
_ _e-teens: d'aww, thank you.  
_ _oninoko: Ayup. Now if only there was someone to help build him up again...as for where it's leading, what's your bad feeling tell you?  
_ _theonlyreason: I know! It's sad.  
_ _miki fubuki: dakka dakka dakka dakka.  
_ _heartonfire: insert heart emote here. Thanks very much for your concern.  
_ _fantasy oh yea: welcome back, and thank you :)_

 _right - as I said, I'm not fully back. A lot had happened since my last update, including a second attempted suicide on my side of the family, a type of tablet I'm on that screwed with me emotionally (basically intensified my up-until-then mild depression), and the horrid timing of being on a severe downer and reading a blog on deviantart that very nearly sank my shipping of Jelsa - in the state I was in, I was emotionally very vulnerable, and it didn't do well for my self-confidence in my writing and I'm basically having to get it all back. So, I'm not okay. I'm better than I was, though, and getting there. I'm not after sympathy, and I know I don't technically **need**_ _to fill you in, but I wanted to, especially after the kind messages I received._


	30. thirty

_chapter word count: 345_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty**

The clinking of porcelain and the boiling of a kettle provides a percussive rhythm from the kitchen behind him as he scrutinizes the myriad photographs on the mantelpiece, but he clearly hears her as she remarks, "You seem different, Jack."

"Oh really?" he scoffs disinterestedly as he scrutinises a picture of Elsa with her left arm draped over the shoulders of, presumably, her sister Anna. "What gives you that idea, then?"

"During the interview you were calm and focused. On the journey here, you were silent and thoughtful. Now you're curt and taciturn, ever since that phone call." Elsa explains confidently as she pours water into a pair of mugs.

"Is that so…" he mutters apathetically, reminded that she is quite possibly every bit as observant as he is.

"I can't help but wonder," she takes his guarded response as permission to continue, "precisely _who_ that person was, if they were so easily able to darken your mood."

Tearing his eyes from a picture of Elsa on her wedding day – oddly, sans the groom – dressed in a stunning shoulder-less bridal dress that flowed and rippled behind her, shimmering blonde hair in a tight bun and a smile that couldn't be more forced if someone taped the corners of her lips to her ears, he turns and fixes her with a challenging glare while she curiously observes him over her left shoulder.

However, he secretly thanks her for the distraction - he was beginning to wonder if Rapunzel's smiles on their wedding day were like that.

"Nunya."

"Nunya…" she repeats slowly, a prompt for him to continue.

"Business." he finishes, brows raised as if to say _"are you done?"_

"Ah," she raises her eyes to the ceiling with a smile, as his meaning dawns upon her, "none of your business—how trite."

"What can I say?" he says flatly as he returns his attention to scrutinising the photographs, "I'm a simple guy."

"Now _that_ I very much doubt." Elsa says with such blunt playfulness that sends tension throughout Jack's spine.

* * *

 _lunasnoir: :D thanks.  
_ _msnatsumichan: thank you so much, your review really means a lot.  
_ _stefalove: ta-da! here you are.  
_ _eburnim: I'm glad you're enjoying it!  
_ _fantasy oh yea: Hmm. I wonder what you could be implying...  
_ _riverfall: thank you, though my mind is my worst enemy at this point - and yay, chocolate!  
_ _hornedgoddess: sent you a PM to clarify - but thank you for your support.  
_ _oninoko: haha :D that she is. You might be surprised by how it ends (if I can summon the desire to continue). Make you a deal - I stay awesome if you stay awesome.  
_ _mikifubuki: wasn't too bashy, it was actually quite logical. Normally I'd've shrugged it off, but being vulnerable at that point caused problems. However since then I've given it some thought, and the points raised in that post were exceedingly flawed. The person is doing better, yes.  
_ _jpbake: Getting there, thank you.  
_ _zero-xxx: talked in PMs. I don't know why, but I'm picturing you at the bow of a sinking ship, stubbornly saluting as it sinks (ooh, alliteration!). Superb? Let's not get carried away.  
_ _e-teens: well, I didn't want to be the kind of author that just disappears out of the blue. you all take time to read this collection of words and sentences, so I felt it was fair to keep you guys updated (though, without details)._

 _Oh, I found something out today, courtesy of wickedgreenphantom. According to William Joyce, Jack can physically age (to a point) or become younger at will, so in your face, naysayers that say Jack looks too young for Elsa._


	31. thirty-one

_chapter word count: 247_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-one**

A few minutes perusing the various snapshots in time sat framed upon the mantelpiece have already yielded an interesting detail, and perfectly timed too – he's anxious to deflect her attention away from him.

"Tell me something." he says with a small amount of curiosity.

"That would depend on what that _'something'_ is. Are we being listened to?" she asks wryly behind him – and her voice is a lot closer than the kitchen. He turns to find her on the other side of the worn leather couch, regarding him intently with her hands by her sides while two steaming mugs sit happily upon the kitchen table.

"Wiretapping or surveillance requires a warrant and a suspect, and given that you're a…" he pauses to sarcastically grunt, "… _witness…_ besides, would it matter?"

"I suppose not." she smiles, and laces her hands together in front of her. "What would you like to know, Jack?"

"I see lots of pictures of you, and some of you with your sister, but none that have your late husband in them. Why is that?" he asks, turning his head back to the photographs.

"Anna strongly disapproved of my marriage to Kozmotis, even going so far as to consider him invisible." Elsa explained with an eerie air of calm.

"Ah. The ol' sibling thing, huh?"

"Precisely – a particular bone of contention was the pre-nuptial agreement." Elsa continued.

Jack's head whipped over his shoulder to fix her with a surprised look. "Wait, what?"

* * *

 _jpbake: True enough. I just like to understand other people, to try and work out why they think the way they do (Helsa still bewilders me, but hey). Slight problem with that is it's making me more and more disillusioned with the world, but hey ho. Thanks for the review - and she does, doesn't she? This kind of Elsa is good fun to write.  
oniiiiiiiiinokoooooo: You'd get bored within a day of where I live, that's what would happen. Haha, that's exactly what I'm trying to pull off, the constant intellectual back-and-forth. Foreplay indeed.  
doomguard24: Hey! Haven't seen you since...CttT I think? Thanks very much for the review!  
heartonfire: I don't feel obligated - well I do, but that's to the story. It's not stressful to upload, I'm just chucking NH updates up when it feels right. As Oni said - this is kind of the foreplay, the NH equivalent of the first conversation of the daters-to-be. Sort of.  
silentreader: Not so silent! Haha. Thanks very much for the review, and I'm glad you like it.  
e-teens: :D You stay awesome too.  
stefalove: Neither had I up - but apparently to some people, image is everything. Incidentally, 18 year old Princess Elsa looks identical to the 21 year old Queen Elsa, so that argument is out of the window._

 _I'm getting better. I'm not forcing myself to write, but the next chapter of OGaV is slowly taking shape paragraph by paragraph. Just waiting to get the joy of writing back - it's so weird, it's like I'm having to re-learn how to write fics. As a heads up, though, my laptop battery is refusing to charge (something to do with the little connector) so I wanted to chuck this update up before the soldering fully comes loose and I have to get it fixed._


	32. thirty-two

_chapter word count: 371_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-two**

"Oh, you didn't know?" she frowns, but the curl of her lips has a razor-sharp edge of amusement. "Well, why would you…"

Uttering a quiet hm, she turns and gracefully makes her way to a drawn-out chair by a circular wood kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other while lacing her fingers together and regards him carefully. "As part of the marriage to my late husband, there was an agreement in place whereby if anything were to happen to him, be it natural causes, accidental or…intentional, I would receive nothing from the estate." she states somewhat matter-of-factly, too much so for his liking.

"So, according to the pre-nup his death leaves you penniless." Jack condenses it, sliding his hands into his pockets, as he dwells in thought.

"Well, not quite. I managed to quietly redirect my inheritance upon my parents' deaths into an offshore account – but that was his intention, yes."

The room falls silent as he realises something; that's the money angle out of the window. She already had money, and even if she didn't – murdering Kozmotis would financially hurt her. Of the usual trifecta of reasons to kill – Love/Money/Revenge, he reluctantly knocks it down to two.

The thing that really freaks him out is that Elsa seems to know what he's thinking.

"And then," she adds almost coyly, "the mere existence of the pre-nuptial clause does imply a lack of trust. Maybe even love."

He frowns to himself as he gazes at the light green carpet – annoyingly, he wholeheartedly agrees with her, so that's two parts of the trifecta potentially ruled out. He tries to remember that there's still the revenge angle, but there's a stabbing ache in his heart that has been present ever since he ended the call – there was no pre-nup clause in his marriage to Rapunzel. In theory, one could infer that it was a union of love, and yet here he is, alone.

"Do you believe in love, Jack?" she asks curiously.

His response is automatic; it coalesces in his pained heart and travels to his mouth before he is even aware of it.

"Used to."

* * *

 _TYPING THIS ON A PHONE IS HARD._

 _I can't really reply as I usually would, but thank you all for reading! Unfortunately there is only one more ready made update after this and then it's back to writing - which is a challenge in and of itself currently._

 _Therefore: in lieu of my customary replies, and in the style of Eirene Harmonia - special thanks to_ ** _fantasy oh yea, k j mcdaniel, jpbake, stefalove, hornedgoddess, oninoko_** _and **e-teens** for reviewing!_


	33. thirty-three

_chapter word count: 457_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-three**

He realises too late that he's just given her an opening, and a quick glance towards her relaxed form confirms it; her eyes remain unwaveringly fixed upon him, but there's a frown of satisfied intrigue dancing upon her elegantly sculpted countenance.

So he tries to deflect her – again.

"Well, there's good old fashioned revenge." he challenges, moving over to the other side of the sofa in order to lean his butt against it.

She rolls her eyes with a playful smile. "How cliché."

"Still a valid reason." He persists, causing an instance where she looks off to the side.

"I suppose it is – but _if_ I was to seek revenge against my late husband, it would appear that the Ashley Madison Ripper has…" she pauses to flick her eyes back to his and arrest him once more, "…beaten me to the punch, as it were."

He watches closely as, ever the oasis of calm, Elsa utters a satisfied hum and turns her attention to her mug. She seems so sure of herself, so controlled and in her element, especially in the way her eyes flick over to the second mug on the side of the table closest to him.

There's a beat of silence where his gaze darts from her patiently waiting orbs of icy blue to the owner-less mug and back, feeling a small ball of suspicion settle itself in his gut. It could be tea with bleach, coffee with anti-freeze or hot chocolate with cyanide.

Annoyingly, she seems to sense his thoughts on the matter – not that they could be any more obvious in the way he warily eyes the mug – and wryly chuckles over the rim of her drink. "You needn't worry, Jack. It's just black coffee."

"How do I know that?"

"You don't," Elsa smirks, "you will just have to trust me. Although…I don't think you trust _anyone_."

"You don't know anything about me." Jack can't help but growl, feeling his fists involuntarily clench in his pocket.

"No…" she concedes with an air of reluctance as she languidly moves the mug away from her lips and delicately places it upon the table. "But I would like to."

Her brazen and straightforward statement stills Jack's lungs with complete incomprehension, and as though sensing the advantage she uncrosses her slender legs, rises to her feet with the elegance of an unfurling flower, and languidly walks towards him. Stiffening to his full height, Jack tenses rigidly as Elsa invades his personal space just close enough for him to hear her breathe, and regards him with interested, attentive – arresting – eyes.

"Tell me, Jack. Did you leave your wife, or did she leave _you_?"

* * *

 _last ready-made update. Will try typing a drabble on my phone, but the keypad is incredibly impractical._

 _special thanks to **lunasnoir, jpbake, stefalove, oninoko, fantasy oh yea** and **e-teens** for reviewing the last chapter!_


	34. thirty-four

_chapter word count: 333_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-four**

Oh, very good.

Her question momentarily takes him off-guard, enough to throw his mind into chaos for the briefest of seconds. How did she know? What, or how _much?_ Was she aware of the White Fairy?

But then her gaze betrays her intent, a visual clue that undermines her in the way she patiently searches for an answer - _she doesn't know_. She's curious; not to hear the answer to her question but whether the answer _is_ the question. Her eyes, siren-like in the way they could lure you to your death, flit about his features in search of the smallest tic, a sign that her fishing expedition had been successful and he'd unwittingly told her what she wanted to know. They call it _cold reading,_ the art of gaining information by implying that the asker knows more about a person than they actually do.

The ally of fake psychics, mediums and fortune tellers as they seek to take advantage of the ignorant, gullible or just plain foolish.

Clever, Elsa, but not clever enough.

Silently thanking his stars that his poker face has been getting better the more she tries to get under his skin and therefore managed to hide his momentary shock, he draws his lips into half a smirk, slowly leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over her right ear - naturally, he doesn't miss the almost imperceptible gasp in response to the sensation - and just as he hears the rattling of a key being inserted into the front door, he whispers, "Nice try, Mrs Black, but you're not as clever as you think you are."

However, his victory is fleeting - she turns her head just enough that he can almost _feel_ her lips near his ear, and with a whisper that nearly sends a shiver down his spine and makes his heart race for just those few seconds, she replies.

"On the contrary, Jack. I am every bit as intelligent as _you_ think."

* * *

 _typed this on my phone. Oh God how I am missing my laptop, I am itching get back to brass tacks!_

 _special thanks to stefalove, lunasnoir, jpbake, fantasy oh yea, oninokooooooo (high five), original reader (your review made my day), noircorda, e-teens and hornedgoddess for reviewing!_


	35. thirty-five

_chapter word count: 437_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-five**

"...so then he starts freaking out about triggers and safe spaces, acting like I just stole his cat! I'm like 'for crying out loud, it's just a grilled cheese sandwich!"

Clearly Anna is no fan of the Tumblr generation. Sidling through the door, her phone wedged tightly against her ear as a result of the full-to-bursting shopping bags occupying her hands, she's still oblivious to her sister and a strange man stood a little too close together for mere acquaintances, something that Jack notes with half-amusement, half-bewilderment.

"...exactly! Anyway, I just got back and I'm wiped, so I'm going to chill out before I start marking the essays. Okay, see you later..." she continues as she gently lowers the bags in the hallway, before straightening up and fingering a strand of strawberry blond behind her right ear.

She looks happy, in love, wearing a wide smile as she listens to whoever's on the phone. The living contrast of her elder sister; she's bubbly, bright and chatty rather than calm and laser-focused, and wearing a vibrant magenta coat, blue cotton skirt and a light teal blouse that does nothing to hide her heavily pregnant belly - at least eight months along by Jack's estimation. She sways adorably on her feet while her free hand strokes her bump, wearing a faraway, romantic look as she coos, "I love you too! Don't forget to pick up some pizza when you leave work-"

Jack glances at Elsa, wondering if she is as exasperated by the fact that her sister _still_ hasn't noticed two intruders in her living room, but the elder's face cuts a mildly amused, wry smile. Evidently Anna's _spatially-aware-as-a-dodgems-car_ disposition is commonplace.

"-okay, okay! I'll have a bath after I grade the papers! You worry too much!-"

Any minute now...

"-honey, I'm pregnant, not dying! Stop stressing! Okay-oh, I forgot to buy pickles and I'm seriously craving some, can you...oh, you're a gem. Okay, well..."

Jack's foot begins to tap an impatient rhythm on the floor - if Anna spends any longer on the phone, she'll inevitably walk into him and her sister due to the call devolving into a tennis match of _'you hang up...no you hang up!'_ for hours. Mercifully, as though both sensing and sharing his irritation, it leads Elsa to loudly clear her throat.

Startled, Anna's head snaps up to the source...and that's when she damn near drops the phone in open-mouthed shock.

"-Kristoff? I'm gonna have to hang up now...no, I'm okay. Elsa finally came home..."

* * *

 _slowly gettting the hang of this..._

 _special thanks to: **bexilol, hornedgoddess, oninoko, chiqanti ceres** and **jpbake** for the lovely reviews!_


	36. thirty-six

_chapter word count: 581_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-six**

They say you never stop learning until the day you die, and it's totally true - Jack had no idea heavily pregnant women move so fast.

He barely darts out of the way as, having overcome her initial disbelief, Anna rushes from the hallway with her arms wide open, and practically tackles her elder sister in a tight, needing, loving embrace - though he fights _so_ hard to suppress a snort at Elsa's posture; instead of regal and poised, she's bent at a hilariously weird angle to accommodate Anna's huge bump.

Of course, the small amusement is overwhelmed by just how _over-the-moon_ Anna looks, her eyes closed in joy as she nuzzles into Elsa's shoulder while the blonde whispers comforting words into her ear, an effort to soothe the gentle, quiet sobbing.

"I missed you so much, Elsa..." mumbles Anna, clawing her fingers into the back of Elsa's black Bardot dress.

Elsa's reply is soft as a feather, and accompanied by a light stroking of her younger sister's back, "I missed you too, Anna. It's good to see you again."

This is too tender a moment for Jack, even if his interaction thus far with Elsa has been dangerous, seductive and doing well to reinforce his suspicions. Clearly Anna has been waiting for this day for a long time, judging by the _'Elsa finally came home'._ The situation begins to evoke a light sensation of discomfort, so, while scratching his temple to dissuade the feeling of being an intruder in a private moment, he averts his eyes and awkwardly shuffles away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Anna pulling away whilst tenaciously grasping her sister's hands, and busies himself with staring intently at the _oh-so-interesting_ ceiling while she gushes, "My God, it's been so long! How are you? You look different-" she rambles, but hastily amends, "-it's a _good_ different! I mean, wow-"

"It has been a long time, Anna. Five years; far too long to be away from you." Elsa agrees grimly, keen to interrupt the rambling.

"Way too long! I mean, phone calls and emails only?! I swear, I was _that_ far from breaking into that asshole's house-"

"Anna..." Elsa gently hushes her decidedly more feisty sibling...or at least attempts to.

"-making him pay for what he did to you-" Anna continues, oblivious to both Elsa's insistent tone and, his curiosity having been drawn by the ranting, Jack's sentinel-like gaze.

"Anna."

"-and dragging you out of there myself-"

 _"Anna."_ Elsa loudly interjects.

"What? I would have totally-" Anna tries to indignantly override her, and it isn't until Elsa steps aside and pointedly clears her throat, "-done it...oh, who's Mr. Tall, Chiseled and Handsome?" she finishes, _finally_ registering his presence with the curling of a sly smile.

"Anna, this man is Detective Jack Frost of the Arendelle City Police Department." Elsa smoothly introduces him, while he nods a curt greeting.

"Detective..oh!" Anna repeats slowly, then promptly gasps at the realisation, " _Detective!_ I-um-wasn't really going to-it's the pregnancy hormones, they're...uh...murder..."

"Uh-huh." Jack grunts with a voice as deadpan as his expression as he folds his arms.

"Seriously, I-wait..." Anna frowns deeply and trails off as, he suspects, the nature dictating his presence finally dawns on her, "...did you say _detective?_ Elsa, what's going on?"

* * *

 _i missed updating, and missed you guys and gals so, so much._

 _special thanks to: **stefalove, hornedgoddess, oninoko** (hai!) **, fantasy oh yea, jpbake, heartonfire** (haaaaai!)and **original reader** (your review made my morning) for reviewing!_


	37. thirty-seven

_chapter word count: 376_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-seven**

Anna's head swivels expectantly between Jack and her sister, waiting with her hands anxiously clasped across her chest as she searches for an answer in their eyes.

"Maybe you should sit down," Jack gently suggests, then upon catching sight of the gold wedding ring he adds, "Mrs..."

"Bjorgman, and I'll stand, thank you very-"

"We insist, Anna," interjects the far more sensible Elsa, though Jack shoots her a look at the use of _we,_ "you have been on your feet for too long."

Anna's mouth perfectly mimics a goldfish as she attempts to fire a protest, but something in Elsa's stern gaze coupled with the _I-really-don't-have-time-for-this_ roll of Jack's eyes gives her pause, so though she can't resist a petulant _"fine...",_ she waddles adorably over to the chair once occupied by her considerably more unpredictable sibling.

Jack glides over and holds the back of her chair while she awkwardly descends onto it, and as she takes a moment to relax into a more comfortable position, Elsa takes the opportunity to elegantly slide into the chair to the mother-to-be's right, and after a long exhalation that carries with it the day's exhaustion of carrying around one, possibly two unborn babies, she nods in latent agreement and winces, "Thanks, I guess I really did need to sit - my feet are killing me. So, what's this about?"

"Anna," Elsa begins, seemingly unsure of how to proceed - which smells of blatant deception to Jack, as he knows for a fact that Elsa is supremely confident in her words and how to use them for maximum impact, therefore her uncertainty is purely for her younger sister's benefit, "Kozmotis was found dead last night."

Her reaction to the news is not what he is accustomed to, not by a long shot. Her face seems to brighten immeasurably, as though someone told her Christmas was coming early, and she gasps, "Really? That rat bastard is dead? Elsa, that's-"

"He was murdered." Jack butts in, and there's something in the unimpressed rise of his brow that causes her eyes to widen while her expression falls to solemn, and hastily amend -

"...awful. Truly awful."

* * *

 _early update because it's Elsa's birthday, or something. Happy Birthday, you sexy fictional character, you...or whatever. Oh, and if anyone is interested, the musical theme for noir heart is the music from the opening credits to Netflix's Jessica Jones. Give it a listen, or...you know...not. Up to you._

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, whimsical acumen, jpbake** and **hornedgoddess** for your reviews!_


	38. thirty-eight

_chapter word count: 609_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-eight**

Generally, Jack would be the one to explain the circumstances of a family member's death - Lord knows how many times he's had to console grieving souls as they wept, and answer or ask questions the best he can without revealing too many details. Hell, it wasn't long ago that he had to dwell in the confusion, grief, heartache and helpless rage of over fifteen different families, unable to tell them a thing.

On this occasion, he's content to simply sit back and silently observe while Elsa fills her younger sister in with much the same details as she revealed to him - or therein lack of - while strategically omitting her obvious culpability, of course. It's one thing to find out that your sister has returned, quite another to learn that she brutally ended her husband to do so.

The curious thing is that Elsa's behaviour has shifted _again._ Timid and then elusively charismatic in the interview room, to dangerously, sexually and intimidatingly playful in the house...and now she's the sensible, calm, elegant elder sister. Classic sociopathic behaviour; the outward appearance is dictated by the current situation. Anna needs her to be the big sister, so that's what Elsa is.

Which then begs the question in his mind - precisely _what_ did he seemingly need Elsa to be-a nemesis? Her Moriarty to his Holmes? Her Foyet to his Hotchner?

Her Alice Morgan to his John Luther?

As he listens to the recounting of her experiences over the last twelve hours, all under the sympathetic gaze of her younger sibling, the questions start to whizz around his mind a little too much for his liking, not helped by the fact that he's still on edge from Elsa's sexually-charged verbal foreplay, her all-too-successful attempt to get under his skin. Everything he threw at her, she turned around and shot back at him with interest.

Maybe she wasn't to be his nemesis. Maybe she merely saw no reason to reason to further act the part and - inconsistently with sociopathic behaviour, he notes - wanted to reveal herself to him.

Why?

"Excuse me," he interrupts Elsa in the middle of repeating how she found Kozmotis...again, "Could I use your bathroom?"

"Sure!" Anna answers brightly, "upstairs, second door on your left."

"Would you like me to show you?" Elsa adds, and there's a playful glint in her eyes that threatens to both turn him on and repulse him in equal measure. He shakes his head in silent refusal, though he suspects she would ignore him anyway - however, Anna has other ideas.

"Actually," she begins shyly, twiddling her fingers together while her hands rest on her belly, "could you make some of that gorgeous chamomile tea like you used to? I tried to do it since you left, but I could never come close, so..."

Jack allows himself a wry curling of the corners of his lips at Elsa's reaction; her face momentarily falls in disappointment coupled with a split-second pout, but as quickly as it comes she covers it with a warm smile and a gentle, "Of course, Anna."

Naturally, as soon as he climbs the slightly creaky stairs and is out of earshot, he lets loose one hell of a relieved sigh that lasts until he reaches the _first_ door on the left. Half open, it beckons him to glimpse into a pale green and pink summery nursery, replete with two well-crafted pine cots and everything two newborns need for a good start in life.

That's when the world begins to fall away around him.

* * *

 _there was a slight scheduling change so I could bring you this update before Christmas Day._

 _special thanks to: **hornedgoddess, chiqanti ceres, oninoko, jpbake, e-teens**_ _and_ _ **trapid** (missed you!) for reviewing._

 _To all my readers, both reviewers and lurkers: love you all, and wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!_


	39. thirty-nine

_chapter word count: 365_

* * *

 **noir heart: thirty-nine**

Time seems to slow to a crawl, such is the grip that the torrent of his memories has over him. His sight looks inward rather than outward, to the past instead of the future, and it's as though every single thing provokes a recollection of the case that took the cocky, confident, smartass Jack and tore him apart until there was nothing left.

 _"Evey Andersen, six years old. She's the eighth, Jack."_

Children always were the crack in his armor.

 _"Thomas Brook, seven. Was playing on his bike in his front yard when he disappeared."_

The pink lilies dotting the walls are the identical colour to the one that little Evey wore behind her right ear. The apple green walls match the t-shirt Thomas wore when he vanished.

 _"Eleven children, Aster. Eleven families that got a toy white fairy in the mail."_

He knows Elsa could never be his nemesis, because he already had one. The White Fairy took everything away from him - sure, he was the one to defeat the evil, but his victory was nothing but Pyrrhic.

 _"I'll take a break when he's in cuffs, or dead, North. He won't stop, so neither will I."_

His eyes trace over the pine cots, and he silently prays to whichever indifferent deity resides upstairs that Anna's children lead good, happy, terror-free lives. That Anna never knows the heartache, the pain and the hopelessness of being the parent of a missing child.

 _"It's another letter - he's taunting me again."_

Because even a year on, the bodies of the missing children have never been found-as though someone wiped them from existence, never to be seen again.

 _"What's it say, mate?"_

A gentle breeze slips through the open nursery window, barely enough to disturb the apple green curtains but sufficient to jostle the mobile suspended over the closest cot, and as the shapes languidly revolve to the soft, slow and strangely sinister tune of Rock-A-Bye Baby dancing from the mobile itself, he catches a glimpse of a small figure drifting around the mobile's very edge.

A white fairy.

 ** _YOU FAILED, JACK THE RIPPER_**

* * *

 _this update goes out to zulka, whose help and advice has been nothing short of incredible for both NH and OGaV. Thank you._

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, jpbake, whimsical acumen, lunasnoir** and **stefalove** for reviewing!_

 _Also, laptop might be repaired soon..._


	40. forty

_chapter word count: 537_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty**

"What is it?"

Captain Jane Moors' reaction to the knocking at her frosted glass office door is overly snappish, she admits to herself, but it has been a _long_ morning and it's only ten o'clock. Keeping control of a precinct of uniformed cops in addition to a whole unit of detectives is tough enough, but factor in the Ripper hunt, the mayor constantly badgering her for results - apparently, politicians are allergic to serial killers in their city - and then there's Detective Frost.

Add to that the customary mountain of paperwork plus several letters politely questioning her decision to keep Frost in the unit, and you have one tired, irritable and prickly police captain.

"It's Detective Southernisle, Captain." is the answer.

"Marvellous…" she mutters bitterly to herself as she slides her rectangular black, thin framed spectacles and tosses them onto her desk, before pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off another yawn - did Frost really have to demonstrate precisely how infectious they were?

Unfortunately, image is everything to Internal Affairs, so as she returns the spectacles to their former position, she relaxes into her high-backed office chair and sighs, "Send him in."

Not three seconds later, clad in a grey suit with a white shirt and green necktie, the auburn-haired Detective Hans Southernisle opens the door, flashing one of his _winning-yet-completely-fake_ smiles - and still sporting those ridiculous sideburns, she notes.

"Captain Moors!" he greets her warmly, "it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Southernisle." she curtly acknowledges him.

Seemingly ignoring her taciturn manner, he proceeds to occupy the chair directly opposite her - without asking, of course. Respect is something that Jane values, and he is showing her none...although, the feeling is mutual.

"How is the hunt for the Ripper?" he asks politely, having settled comfortably into the chair. Her emerald eyes flash with impatience; small talk is not something she engages in.

"Do we have them in custody?" she snaps tersely.

"Well, no-"

"Then you know very well how it is." she mercilessly cuts him off, lacing her fingers together in front of her.

"Come now, Jane, there's-" he begins, but with a great deal of satisfaction she interrupts him once again.

"Firstly, you will address me as Captain Moors. My detectives call me Boss Lady, and my friends call me Jane. _You_ are neither." she sternly berates him.

Annoyingly, the I.A. detective is unfazed by her scolding. "Duly noted, _Captain Moors."_ he drawls, and the derisive tone is none too subtle.

"Secondly, I am very busy so if you would be so kind as to get to the point, I would appreciate it."

She notices how Hans' eyes momentarily darken, but he quickly masks them behind the clearing of his throat and a hasty smile. "Certainly. As I understand it, Detectives Hamada and Tomago are currently investigating a series of double homicides that have almost been forgotten thanks to the media's interest in the Ripper?"

"That's correct...why do you ask?" she enquires, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion.

Hans' smile widens. "I would _respectfully_ suggest that you reassign them elsewhere, and give the case to Detectives Frost and Bunnymund."

* * *

 _oh hans, what are you up to..._

 _special thanks to: **whimsical acumen, jpbake, oninoko, stefalove, eburnim, guest** and **jollygotrice** for the reviews!_


	41. forty-one

_chapter word count: 417_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-one**

The feminine voice that graces Jack's ears from somewhere to his right is far too distorted for him to make out - something like " _all moo today"_ \- but nevertheless it has the intended effect; his body surges into life as he is yanked from the past back to the ever-progressing present, like a drowning sailor pulled to the surface by a life-saving rope.

Blinking his eyes and mind awake he slowly turns his head to the right, and finds himself gazing at a curious and slightly suspicious-looking Anna.

"Huh?" he vacantly mumbles an all too inadequate sound.

Anna rolls her eyes as she repeats herself, "I said: are you okay?"

Jack blinks in fleeting incomprehension, before his brain exasperatedly gives him a swift kick up the metaphorical backside. "Oh," he says flatly, "yeah...I'm fine."

Anna gives him a look of mildly-unimpressed. "You sure? You've been up here for fifteen minutes."

"Has it been that long?" Jack whispers quietly to himself - however, Anna seems to have good hearing.

"Yep. Elsa was getting worried, plus I wanted to talk to you alone."

Jack cocks an eyebrow just as a slight fluttering of the mobile distracts his eyes. "Oh really? How'd she take that?"

Anna chuckles a little too sinisterly for his tastes, "As a pregnant woman, I have a _severe_ craving for sandwiches, so she didn't have much of a choice. So, what's up?"

His attention drawn from the mobile, he casts her an awkward glance. "Nothing," he sighs, pausing briefly to close his eyes and tiredly scratch his brow, "just lost in thought."

"About my sister, and how you think she murdered Kozmotis?"

Jack's eyes instantly snap back to rest upon the annoyingly smug expression belonging to the younger sister, and he shoots her a deadpan look. "She told you, huh?" he drawls.

"Uh-huh, she mentioned it. Didn't seem bothered by it, which is lucky for _you_ , 'cause you'd have _me_ to answer to." she reprimands him.

"Is that a fact?" he sighs.

"Yep," she continues, ignoring his obvious indifference,"and here's another fact, free of charge: she didn't do it. Know how I know?"

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"Elsa is kind, caring, selfless, protective and brave, but you know what else?"

Jack lightly frowns and shakes his head; now _this_ is curious. Anna smirks in seeming victory, and leans closer to dramatically whisper:

"The whole marriage? _Her idea."_

* * *

 _Rearrange: ayphp wne eyra!_

 _special thanks to: **lunasnoir, durgess, ghost angel 14, hornedgoddess, oninoko, trapid** and **jpbake** for reviewing!_


	42. forty-two

_chapter word count: 483_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-two**

Silence reigns in the captain's office, an uncomfortable tranquility that usually descends whenever Jane is deeply suspicious about something, or _someone._ It's her preferred environment in that sort of situation; once, she had managed to make a drug dealer confess his sins _and_ give up his buyers simply by staring at him without uttering a single word.

Hans shifts awkwardly in his seat, and clears his throat as he tries to meet the captain's imperious gaze. "Is something wrong, Captain Moors?" he asks innocently.

"No," she answers, void of emotion, "I'm just waiting for the punchline."

The I.A. detective nervously chuckles. "It's no joke. I truly think Frost should be assigned to that investigation."

Jane narrows her eyes as she tenses in her chair, her body taut and her mind alert. "Why?" she asks.

"Well, surely a man with such intelligence, deductive and observational skills is _wasted_ on high school graffiti?" he offers with such false praise that it makes her stomach turn.

"That may be," she speaks slowly and cautiously, "but I can't help thinking there is an ulterior motive here."

Hans' forced smile grows, and his eyes twinkle with amusement. "No such thing, Captain."

"What if I refuse, and choose not to be a pawn in your little game?" she challenges him.

Hans chuckles darkly, and rises from his seat with a victorious air that arouses the temptation to punch him in the face, "That would be a shame, considering what happened to the _last_ decorated captain to sit in that chair."

Oh, he went there. Jane too rises from her seat, feathers her fingertips across her desk and leans towards him with an expression as cold as the Arctic, "I _don't_ respond well to _threats,_ Detective Southernisle." she growls, and to his credit Hans seemingly has the good sense to flinch a little.

"Call it what you want," he attempts an airy tone as he shrugs, "I merely wanted to offer my opinion."

He turns away from her and casually saunters to the door, and Jane, sensing a weakness in his obvious desire to place Frost in a potentially precarious position, straightens up and folds her arms as she prepares to mercilessly exploit it.

"It's a shame when brothers fight." she observes solemnly.

Hans whirls round and fixes her with a hostile glare, one that screams that she didn't just touch a nerve, she hit it with a _tactical missile,_ " _Adopted_ brother, Captain! Adopted! You would do well to recognise the difference."

Jane allows herself half a smirk at how easily Hans took the bait, something he too notices judging by how he screws up his face in self-admonition. Sensing his disadvantage, he turns and prepares to leave, but not before adding, "Frost stopped being my brother the second he chose to betray our family."

* * *

 _plot twist directed by m. night shyamalan. gasp._

 _special thanks to: **whimsical acumen, bobberoo98, jpbake, edgar allan snow, hornedgoddess, eburnim, stefalove, lunasnoir** and **oninoko** for reviewing!_

 _(that's quite a few people O.o)_


	43. forty-three

_chapter word count: 521 (oops)_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-three**

The more Jack listens to Anna's explanation why Elsa married - actively _sought_ to marry - the reprehensible Kozmotis Black, the more his suspicions are allayed...and confirmed. A strange notion that both sides of the innocence/guilt dichotomy are satisfied at once.

As Anna speaks, she talks of bravery and courage; just over five years ago, their parents' company Snowfield Architecture was days away from bankruptcy and leaving its employees jobless, and no matter what solutions Agdar tried, it appeared that the company's doom was certain.

Enter Elsa, in its darkest hour.

Unbeknownst to her family, Elsa approached consultancy firm CEO, millionaire, tyrant and borderline psychopath Kozmotis Black with an offer: save Snowfield Architecture, and she would be his.

Of course, Kozmotis jumped at the chance; Elsa's confidence, intelligence and beauty were renowned in the business world and, indeed, the media - except to Jack, who evidently lived under a rock - and several times had she been approached with offers of courtship.

She refused every single advance, including ones from Kozmotis himself.

However, his thirst for power, tyranny and general prickery was equally renowned, so in true asshole fashion he made some alterations; as well as the pre-nup, Elsa was to cut off contact with her family the moment they were married. If she was to be his, then the possession was to be _absolute._

"She missed my wedding, my housewarming...he wouldn't even let her attend our parents' funeral…" Anna laments sadly, consoling herself with stroking her bump as she looks away. Jack can easily tell how much Elsa's return means to Anna; she will be there at the birth.

"When she came back home and told us what she did, Mama and Papa went crazy...but they knew why she did it. That's how I know she didn't kill that...it's just not in her nature. Do you understand, Detective?"

Anna would make one hell of a character witness, he notes. She would just have to repeat in court what she just told him, and the jury would be sold faster than _The Force Awakens_ tickets on opening night.

Even _if_ Elsa had means, motive and opportunity, the lack of evidence, reasonable doubt, 'presence' of the Ripper coupled with Anna's testimony means no jury would convict even _if_ she was indicted - hello, _double jeopardy._

Yet, Anna's story also reinforces his suspicion of her potentially malignant narcissist-sociopathic behaviour, especially if she might be a _high-functioning sociopath._ People like her wouldn't tolerate being part of a dying company, and her actions to save it may be less altruistic and more _look-at-me-and-how-selfless-I-am._ With 'Ripper-Fear' at its highest, it could have been the ideal time to put Kozmotis out of _her_ misery.

Sometimes the perfect murder isn't getting away with it while the cops scratch their heads, but to stand just outside the law's reach and give it the finger.

Or maybe Anna is right and she is innocent.

One thing's for sure, though: he's _done_ with Elsa Black.

* * *

 _meep meep._

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, edgar allan snow, hornedgoddess, stefalove, lunasnoir, oninoko** and **heartonfire** for reviewing!_


	44. forty-four

_chapter word count: 486_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-four**

A quick check of his watch confirms the worries that have been slowly gnawing from the back of his mind, having been pushed aside by the trip down memory lane - ten forty-five. For someone who was only supposed to drop Elsa to a safe place of residence, he's a little guilty of allowing time to fly.

"I should get back to work," he announces curtly, "I've already spent too long here."

He turns away from the nursery's doorway whilst scratching his left temple, and it's in that moment Anna chooses to fire off another question - "Out of curiosity, Detective...what makes you think _I_ didn't do it?"

Jack stops and turns just enough to give her a look that screams she either asked the stupidest question ever, or she's from another planet. "Don't be ridiculous," he snaps in exasperation, "you're eight months pregnant."

Folding her arms, she purses her lips and glares at him with a fire that would incinerate ordinary men if they cared - which luckily, he doesn't.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Few years ago, there was an investigation into an attempted kidnapping - the victim was a woman who was around seven weeks pregnant. When she tried to run, the perp caught up with her and began to assault her - thing is, her priority was protecting her baby, so she curled up and covered her abdomen while he kicked her over and over."

Anna's eyes widen slightly as she quietly gasps in horror. "What happened?" she whispers like a child enraptured.

"Someone intervened, so she suffered only a few minor injuries, but because she stepped up, the baby was unharmed...Mrs. Bjorgman," he pauses to extend a single finger and hold it before him, "a mother's _first_ instinct when in danger is to protect her offspring. _That's_ how I know…"

Whether he means it or not, his face becomes stern as a judge as he fully turns to face her, and he challenges, "...or are you telling me you'd risk injury to yourself and your unborn kids, or risk giving birth to them in prison while serving twenty-five to life?"

Anna's face drains of colour until it's almost as white as his hair, her eyes widen to their limit in fear, and her hands instinctively wrap themselves around her bump. Hell of a way to make his point, but her silence means she received it loud and clear, even if it did scare the crap out of her.

"I didn't think so." he grunts, turning his back on her, and proceeds to mutter irritably under his breath as he heads to the cream-carpeted stairs.

Putting children in dangerous situations is a surefire way to earn Jack's wrath, no matter _who_ you are.

* * *

 _the first to guess the fic Jack is referencing and who wrote it gets 1 x internet. Redeemable at all good Al's Toy Barn outlets in the tri-county area. Many thanks to that special person for giving me permission, and I hope I did you proud._

 _I keep hearing about OGaV, so I'm mentioning this again: my laptop is still out of commission, and I physically can't type 8-10k words on a phone, so until it is repaired, **noir heart** will be the only one updated._

 _When it does get repaired, in addition to updating OGaV I hope to be putting out some oneshots: "Circling the Outer Rim" (Star Wars Jelsa, running parallel to The Force Awakens), "A Demon In the Sheets" (Jelsa smut), "bro/ken" (angsty, breakup oneshot), and a high school oneshot where Jack, shockingly, is NOT a popular, bad boy player._

 _special thanks to: **heartonfire, somerandomperson, stefalove, jpbake, oninoko, hornedgoddess, twilightlover127, edgar allan snow** and **fantasy oh yea** for reviewing!_


	45. forty-five

_chapter word count: 713 (yikes)_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-five**

"Um...Detective?"

Jack silently groans as he passes the halfway point of the stairs - Anna's at it again. Had he not already been convinced of her innocence in her brother-in-law's murder - the idea of Mr. Black being related to Mrs. Vibrant Colour still bewilders him - her line of questioning would have put her top of of his suspect list, but there's a sinking feeling at the prospect of another silly question.

However, her voice is less bright and confident that before, and it's the change in her demeanour in addition to the newly arrived presence of glorious sunshine streaming through the windows, bathing the warm, colourful kitchen with a healthy, vibrant glow that stops the snarky jab before it even leaves his mind...but that's not the only thing that momentarily stills his thoughts - Elsa herself effortlessly does so.

The sunshine seems to do well for her. Standing with her back to him and chopping something judging by the _clack-clack_ sound of a knife on a wooden board, her hair gives off an otherworldly, ethereal shimmer that reminds him far more of sunshine than Rapunzel's ever did, and her skin seems to glow under such warmth - or freedom. Having heard his descent, she looks over her shoulder and flashes him a smile coupled with a look that he can't quite fathom, before returning to her work.

"Yeah?" he answers without turning, struck by how that was one hell of a smile.

"Elsa said that the cops think the Ashley Madison Ripper did it...do you...do you think we're in danger? I mean...Elsa's a witness…" Anna finishes, and there's a hint of worry in her voice that arouses a little guilt at his prior irritability - she's not just thinking of Elsa, but her unborn children too.

Turning to face her as she finishes her descent, he summons his most reassuring smile and calmly answers, "No, Mrs. Bjorgman. No danger of that."

"How do you know?" Elsa asks, still attending to her task.

There's an a mischievous streak that tears its way through his heart and mind upon hearing her question; this could be the perfect opportunity to get revenge for her mind games.

"I've seen murders that were works of art, Mrs. Black. The Ripper is one such artist…"

Elsa's knife strokes slow to a crawl - she's listening intently.

Perfect.

"...Mr. Black's murder was a kindergarten hand painting by a hyperactive toddler in comparison." he finishes, watching for her reaction.

There's a loud _clunk_ that shatters the still air, the sound of a knife practically splitting the board in two. Half-smirking, he watches as Elsa turns to fix him with an incensed glare, her eyes burning an indignant fire while she grips the knife blade-up in her right hand - bullseye.

"Elsa, are you o-" Anna gasps, but quickly changes tack as soon as she sees the splatter of red blossoming on the waist of her Bardot dress, "-oh my God! Let me get you a cloth!"

How about that, she was chopping tomatoes.

"I'll see myself out," he says with quiet amusement as he bows his head. "Thanks for the coffee."

Just as he turns and practically saunters to the front door, Elsa's voice rings out over the sound of her sister furiously wiping at the stain on her dress, "Wait, Detective…" she begins, and he doesn't miss the veiled petulance in her tone, "...should I have your number?"

He rounds his head just as he rests his left hand upon the door handle, regarding her silently yet a little victoriously. "...in case I...remember something?" she finishes a little _too_ coyly.

He loudly scoffs - yeah, right. "I don't think that's necessary, Mrs. Black. I'm not the investigating detective…"

Twisting the handle to unlock the door, he moves to pass through the doorway, but not before adding with an air of indifference, "I was just the guy who took your statement. Have a nice day, Mrs. Black, Mrs. Bjorgman."

Without allowing for further conversation, he sweeps out into the cold winter air and clicks the door closed behind him.

No way in hell is she getting his contact details.

* * *

 _way to antagonise, Jack. Also - the answer to the reference comes next update._

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, whimsical acumen, jpbake, trapid, edgar allan snow, heartonfire, stefalove, lunasnoir** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews, and a wave to **oddsockson!**_


	46. forty-six

_chapter word count: 483 (ish)_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-six**

...and his morning was going _so_ well.

A six o'clock start with arguably the most amazing woman on Earth: his eternal love and wife-of-eighteen-months Thiana Bunnymund - naturally with some passionate intimacy in the shower... _hey, t_ _hey were in the mood_ \- coupled with a decent breakfast and a short jaunt around the corner of Fourth and Nostalgia in the interview room had made for an upbeat Aster Bunnymund.

See, he's one of those optimistic types, the ones that still hope and believe in happy endings despite the darkness, violence and death they see every day, and have learned to keep it hidden under a veil of cynicism. It keeps him grounded, enables him to take joy in all the beautiful things and reminds him that, though there is Evil in the world that does not sleep, there is Good to balance it.

His closest friend, however, is his antithesis. A man that wears his pessimism and distrust like a heavy suit of armour against the world. Where Aster doesn't fear evil as he knows there is equal good, Jack feels that he's already looked into the darkest part of the abyss, so nothing else scares him.

But nothing lasts forever, Jack once mused, and Aster's buoyant morning is no exception; though as he waits impatiently in the men's bathroom, having _reluctantly_ followed Hans' suggestion to meet him there, spending his time pacing the cream linoleum floor and scowling at the ugly cream-and-tan linear tiled walls, he wonders if there's a magic _rewind_ button that'll take him back in time to when Thiana's toned legs were wrapped around his waist, gasping his name in his ear while she tightened around him, rather than remain in the present where he swallows down the sinking dread that erupted as soon as he first heard Hans utter his name in the unit room.

His head dips to check his black leather wristwatch for what feels like the umpteenth time, and with an irritated and disdainful grunt he considers his time fully wasted and turns toward the door...just as it languidly swings open and Hans steps in.

"Sorry to keep you, Detective. I had to make a call that couldn't wait - thank you for your patience." his once-friend smoothly and near-patronisingly drawls.

"Yeah well, you've wasted enough of my time, mate, so get to the point." Aster snaps.

Hans blinks, momentarily taken aback by his abrasiveness, but throws up an insincere smile. "Certainly," he begins lightly, "Detective, you are about to be taken off the Ripper hunt and assigned to the series of double homicides previously investigated by Detectives Hamada and Tomago."

That explains why Gogo's blurred silhouette looked pissed off in the captain's office. His emerald eyes narrowing, he asks the million dollar question, "Why?"

Hans chuckles once. "Simple, really. You and Detective Frost will work together, and along the way you will report his actions to me. Discreetly, I might add."

* * *

 _had to split this one in two, it turned out to be a monster. The fic Jack was referencing was_ _ **Give It a Chance**_ _by_ _ **OniNoKo**_ _. In addition, to answer_ _ **heartonfire's**_ _theory, Jack and Rapunzel never had a child._

 _special thanks to:_ _ **jpbake, stefalove, edgar allan snow, oninoko, hornedgoddess**_ _and_ _ **heartonfire**_ _for reviewing!_


	47. forty-seven

_chapter word count: 433_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-seven**

Now it's Aster's turn to be taken aback. "I'll be _what?"_ he gapes blankly. His expression hardening, Hans slowly walks towards him and invades his personal space to the point of uncomfortable, and his voice takes on a growl.

"You heard me. If Frost cuts any corners, commits any offence or even _looks_ at the rules the wrong way, you are to inform me immediately."

That son of a bitch. "Go fuck yourself, Hans. I'm not gonna be your spy, _mate."_ Aster hisses venomously, practically spitting the last word.

"Oh...but you are," the I.A detective gloats, "because you have something to lose...or is it some _one?"_

He can't. He _couldn't._ Not her, his heart, his love. "You _bastard."_ he's barely able to hiss through a remarkably dry mouth. Trying to ignore the twisting of his stomach, he cracks, "Why?"

"Leverage, Aster. Your marriage is only eighteen months old, correct? So that means," Hans pauses to look away in faux-thought, "your lovely wife's green card is on a conditional basis, no? So, in six months' time, she must apply for permanent residency within...what is it...ninety days, or face deportation?"

Thickly swallowing down his nausea, Aster glares the best death glare he possibly can, and silently prays that the fear of losing Thiana chilling his spine isn't reflected in his face. Show him no fear, no quarter.

"It'd be a shame if her application was delayed...or _denied."_

He tries to think. To plan. Find a new angle, as Tadashi would say. He could tell Jack, but any shift in his partner's usual behaviour could tip Hans off. He could feed him false information, but the second Hans finds out...the risk is too great. His mind searches for a get-out clause, but the more he thinks the more he realises: there is none. All Hans would need to do is make a call to his brother Henrik in U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, and Thiana would be deported - possibly never to return, depending on how vindictive Hans is feeling at the time.

The only way he can ensure Thiana wakes up in _their_ bed in six months' time, and not on a plane back to Southeast Asia is by playing ball, by betraying his closest friend.

The consequence is a bitter pill to swallow, though; Jack's trust in him could be irrevocably damaged – or destroyed.

He has no choice, so with a long exhalation he lets his eyes fall away from Hans', closes them, and tries to ignore the voice of accusation as he admits defeat.

"You win…"

* * *

 _cheers,_ _ **Whimsy,**_ _for the heads up. Speaking of heads up, the guy who was going to repair my lappy is going through...a family emergency, so I'm going to find another person to fix it._

 _special thanks to:_ _ **jpbake, oninoko, whimsical acumen, stefalove**_ _and_ _ **heartonfire**_ _for reviewing!_


	48. forty-eight

_chapter word count: 617 (woops)_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-eight**

A malignant narcissist sociopath, that was what he called her.

Clad in a pair of grey sweatpants and dark blue sweater, and resting with her back against the headboard of her bed, having intimated to Anna that due to being awake for nearly thirty hours straight she was feeling drained and in need of sleep, Elsa spends her time staring at the blue and white striped wallpaper directly across from her in the converted attic, wondering if he's right. She didn't see herself as such; people with that disorder tend to be rash and impulsive, to be paranoid and compulsive liars. Four character aspects that she knows for a fact she doesn't possess.

Sociopath? Doubtful. Sociopathic _tendencies_? Maybe.

She never truly knew _what_ she was; all she knew was that on some level, she saw the world differently to everyone else. Things that have meaning to others are meaningless to her, bordering on sentiment that she has neither time nor patience for. She could count the number of people she cared about with one finger - technically two, Kristoff counts by association - and sometimes she is unable to fathom why people feel the way they do. Certainly, she doesn't really _feel_ much for anyone, except perhaps the woman downstairs who knows she is different, yet still accepts her with open arms.

But then this man, this Detective Jack Frost, a man with wise and searching cobalt blue eyes, walked into the interview room with a weariness and darkness around him that she could practically touch. Who, in less than two hours managed to prove himself to be her equal. In less than six hours, shrugged off everything she threw at him and even managed to get under _her_ skin by disparaging her work.

And that excites her, an emotion she hasn't felt in many, many years. He _excites her._ Intellectually, oddly emotionally, and _sexually._ The kind of flirtatious chemical interaction between those destined for a one night stand, except in their case it was a battle of wits over an interview table - and later, a kitchen table.

Over a table - her chest burns at the mental image.

It's strange, then, that her sudden yet intentional widowing has created an unexpected boon. She knew of Frost from the newspaper articles of various serial killers and psychopaths he had put behind bars - Mockingbird, Son of Mengele, the Skinner, even the White Fairy, and sought to see if she could beat him and commit the perfect murder. The consequences didn't really matter, not that they ever did; jail was vastly preferable to the hell of being Kozmotis Black's wife.

Smiling, she thinks of how the sensation of being laid bare, almost naked by his analysis was invigorating, and though he could not prosecute her for Kozmotis' death - her very presence in the attic bed is testament to that, but she has no intention of holding it against him - his ability to see and understand her was intriguing.

No-one has aroused that sensation for as long as she can remember, and so she makes a decision. Leaning forward, her hands grip the silver notebook which she asked Anna if she could borrow to help her doze off, and she pries it open with both hands. The home screen boots up almost immediately - thank you, explosion in a paint factory known as Windows 10 - and with a purposeful smirk she navigates the small pointer over to the Chrome icon and taps the touchpad.

Obediently, the ever omniscient Google search engine fills the screen patiently awaiting to be fed, and with great care she decides to find out everything she can about the man whose name she types into the search bar.

 _DETECTIVE JACK FROST |_

* * *

 _first of hopefully many Elsa PoVs. Hope it worked out._

 _special thanks to:_ _ **stefalove, colormeaya, jpbake, oninoko**_ _and_ _ **heartonfire**_ _for reviewing!_


	49. forty-nine

_chapter word count: 474_

* * *

 **noir heart: forty-nine**

 _Message from: Aster  
12:46_

 _ **U done with Mrs Black yet?**_

Frowning, Jack's fingers nimbly tap out a reply and send it on its way, before relaxing back into the leather driver's seat of his Impala.

 _ **What's that supposed to mean?  
**_ _Sent: 12:47_

 _Message from: Aster  
_ _12:48_

 _ **I meant if U managed 2 get anything out of her, or was she 2 busy trying 2 get into ur pants?**_

Jack's eyes rise to the heavens to the point that it's almost painful; the perfect accompaniment to the exasperated groan that escapes his throat. For a moment, he briefly considers forcefully applying his forehead to the steering wheel, but chooses instead to fire off another reply.

 _ **No, I didn't. And shut the fuck up.  
**_ _Sent: 12:48_

 _Message from: Aster  
_ _12:50_

 _ **Easy there, Frostbite. Just asking.**_

He can't decide what's annoying him more; Aster's line of questioning, or the fact that he still butchers the English language in text form, consistently and relentlessly.

 _Message from: Aster  
_ _12:52_

 _ **Anyway, boss lady wants us in her office pronto, so soon as ur done with w/e or whoever ur doing, get back to the precinct sharpish.**_

Aster's reply puzzles him quite a bit; the last time he was in Maleficent's office, he was being taken off his active cases and subjected to investigative limbo as per I.A's edict. Resting his head on his hand, with his top lip against his left index finger, he ponders what else the boss has in store for him.

Fired, maybe.

 _ **Why?  
**_ _Sent: 12:55_

The answer only deepens the puzzlement.

 _Message from: Aster  
_ _12:58_

 _ **New case.**_

Of the things that don't make sense to him, like Justin Bieber's success and the fact that someone actually fell in love with Aster, this reply is up there with them. Looking a gift horse in the mouth is standard operating procedure for detectives in the APD, and he's not so much looking as examining with a magnifying glass. Why, after being removed from the important, active cases, has Maleficent suddenly done a reversal?

He ponders his options for a moment, but cynically realises that the only way he will get any answers is to go along with it, so with what the King would define as a _suspicious mind_ , he shoots his answer.

 _ **Be there in a couple of hours, something to do first.  
**_ _Sent: 13:04_

 _Message from: Aster  
_ _13:05_

 _ **Like what?**_

The left side of his lips twitch into half a smirk, and his eyes flick up from his phone, through his windshield, and rest upon the building to which the parking lot he's currently idling in belongs.

Arendelle High.

 _ **I'm going back to school.  
**_ _Sent: 13:07_

* * *

 _oh aster, y u no text proprly._

 _Replying to Guest, since I assume it was you that reviewed about OGaV on both this story and on OGaV itself, asking for an update - it will come when it's ready, and when my laptop is fixed. No way in hell can my fingers cope with 10k words plus on a phone. Sorry!_

 _special thanks to: **stefalove, hornedgoddess, heartonfire, oninoko-masquerading-as-guest** and **jpbake** for reviewing!_


	50. fifty

_chapter word count: 645_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty**

"Jack Frost, as I live and breathe. I never thought I'd see you again."

Eleven years has been kind to Robert Callaghan, principal to the once-trickster Jack and grandfather to Arendelle High. Many a time had the younger version of himself been hauled into Callaghan's office to face punishment, and though Jack had to face the consequences every time, the punishment fit the crime. A cherry bomb in the toilets meant that he had to clean up the water with a mop.

Jack partly blamed Callaghan for his antics, though; had the affable principal not tried to suppress a grin and not worn a twinkle in his eye whenever he handed out the discipline, he wouldn't have been so encouraged to continue his work as the reincarnation of Loki.

Okay, maybe not. Jack would've continued his pranks regardless, and he knows it.

"Good to see you too, sir." he responds lightly. The grey-haired man, who looks like he hasn't aged a day, curls a wider smile and offers his hand, which is politely taken.

"It's been awhile, son. Seems only yesterday you and your brother Hans were giving my staff migraines." Callaghan softly enthuses as he pockets his hands, and the boyish twinkle has not been dimmed one bit. Neither has his principal's reserved sense of fashion, it seems; Callaghan still wears the grey sweater-vest, dark grey slacks and brown shirt that contribute to his grandfather-like appearance.

Nodding slowly, Jack agrees. "That was a long time ago, sir. Lot of things have happened since then."

Strangely, though an eternity has passed since he last set foot in the halls of Arendelle High, it hasn't really changed. Green lockers still flank either side of the corridors, a white vinyl floor punctuated by black squares still rests under their feet, and the hustle and bustle of high school students reminds him that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Except the Student of the Year award hanging proudly on the wall behind Callaghan's head. Mulan used to have that honour, now it's some grinning kid with black hair called Marinette, who has an obsession with ladybirds judging by the red-with-black-spots shirt she wears in her photograph.

 _I feel old._

"Indeed they have," Callaghan sagely concurs, "I've been keeping track of your exploits since you left - I have to say, you're one of the students I'm proud to say studied here."

Jack scoffs dismissively as he averts his eyes to the students entering the classrooms to his right, including Marinette, holding the hand of a student with blond hair as messy as his. "Ancient history, sir. Besides, I'm here about the graffiti incident." he changes the subject, resting his hands on his hips.

"I'm afraid you've wasted your time, Jack. Coach Calhoun found out who it was this morning; Kronk, our quarterback. He said he was drunk, and his friend Kuzco dared him to do it. Calhoun busted him down to refreshments duty for a month as punishment." Callaghan says apologetically.

Half-smirking, Jack doesn't even mind.

"Coach Calhoun always was a drill sergeant." he recalls in mild amusement as he watches the classroom doors close, something that Callaghan wholeheartedly agrees with.

"She still is. Tough, uncompromising, and…" the principal chuckles, but trails off unexpectedly and abruptly. Curious to the change of tone, Jack's head swings over to him. "...is something wrong, Sid?"

Following the principal's frown to Jack's left, he notices how a young boy about sixteen, wearing a black shirt with a white skull, blue denim pants and a shaven brown head is staring wide-eyed at the gold APD badge on his left hip, his body tense and his face whiter than Jack's hair.

* * *

 _confession: I have never seen "Miraculous". I only know of Ladybug and Chat Noir via osmosis._

 _wonder why Sid's acting shifty..._

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, edgarallansnow, hornedgoddess, oninoko, heartonfire, notdoge, scottydog, colormeaya** and **stefalove** for reviewing!_


	51. fifty-one

_chapter word count: 513_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-one**

"Hey, kid?" Jack addresses him, "If you're thinking about running; seriously, bad idea."

Sid's terrified gaze shoots up from the badge to meet Jack's, and his mouth parts to reveal gloriously shiny silver braces hugging his teeth. He's about to do it, and Jack knows it. Tensing the arm that holds the backpack strap over his right shoulder, Sid takes a single step back.

"Kid, don't. Just don't." Jack sigh-warns. He's really not looking forward to what's about to happen.

Sid ignores him; with a sharp intake of breath, he darts in the opposite direction and sprints the way he came, which if Jack's memory serves correctly, is the towards the main building's rear door that opens onto the sports field outside, where there used to be a small hole in the far corner of the fence. He and Hans used to use that all the time when skipping school, so if Sid is running in that direction, it's probably still there.

Eleven years on and they still haven't fixed the damn hole.

"Seriously?" he groans as he covers his face in his left palm, "I can't believe you're actually running. I _hate_ running."

Turning back, and regarding Principal Callaghan with a superbly exasperated expression, whose own face frowns with surprise and confusion, he jerks his thumb to the right and asks, "Is the fire door still there, the one that leads to near the sports equipment building where Hans and I used to smoke?"

Callaghan nods. "Yes, Jack, it is. But...go easy on him, would you? His home life isn't great." he calls out, as Jack's already walking in the opposite direction to where Sid went.

Walking; because Sid has a long way to run; through the rest of the school as it leads to the football field's northwest corner, then under the football stands to avoid Calhoun's hawk-like eyes, round the Smoking Shack as Jack once affectionately called it, and then the last stretch to the hole.

" _Oh, it's a cop! I'd better run!_ Yeah, makes total sense. _Not._ " he grumbles as he takes the corridor the first left after the classroom Marinette disappeared into, and strides towards the fire doors at the far end.

Of course, many years spent in this school means that Jack knows the best place to ambush Sid is the Shack, which he'll reach at a brisk walk before Sid even gets outside.

"I mean - _seriously -_ why run? I know your name, I can find out where you live, so why run? Honestly," he rants angrily to himself, briefly pausing to chastise for not being in class a passing sixteen year old, whose obscenely long black hair drapes down one eye, "sprinting faster than a social justice warrior can jump on…" he pauses ranting to air-quote, "...' _cultural appropriation'_ as soon as you see a cop? One that _hates_ running? Great idea. Hope you get F's on your finals, you idiot."

* * *

 _true, Sid has nothing to do with any of the investigations in this. he's just a kid with something big to hide, and Jack's having a bad day. The next set of drabbles is pretty much to set up the illumination of a darker aspect to Jack's character in this - we know he's a maverick with a propensity to bend the rules, but we haven't seen it happen...yet._

 _just a reader: hah, it's fine. I'm still happy you liked the reference._

 _special thanks to:_ ** _whimsical acumen, stefalove, jpbake, just a reader, scottydog, lunasnoir, hornedgoddess, oninoko, heartonfire, edgarallansnow,_** _and **ghost angel14** for the reviews!_


	52. fifty-two

_chapter word count: 507_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-two**

Score one for accurate memory.

Jack reaches the corner of the Smoking Shack, situated to the right of the spectator stands and near the southeast corner of the track just as he hears the approach of rapid footfalls on the grass, easily audible over the sounds of football practice. Pressing himself against the wall, out of sight, he waits for the hurried running steps to get closer and closer, before he whirls around and holds out his right arm.

Viciously clotheslined, the unfortunate Sid nearly flips backwards with the surprise ambush, landing sharply on his back with a surprised, pained " _oof!"_ before proceeding to utter a lengthy groan, his eyes clamped shut with one of the most pained winces Jack has ever seen in his tenure at high school. Bending over the unfortunate student, Jack rests his hands on his knees as he gives him a ' _poor wittle baby'_ expression and mocks, "Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt? Want a band aid?" with his bottom lip stuck out for emphasis.

"You're an…ass…" Sid moans hoarsely as he labors to clamber to his feet.

"And you're the moron that thought running away from a cop was a good idea." Jack snarks as he yanks the boy up by his upper arm.

"Seemed like it...at the time." Sid winces, keeping his head low and avoiding Jack's eyes. Uh-uh, he's having none of that, so with an exasperated sigh Jack manhandles Sid to the wall of the Smoking Shack, and bends down to equal head-height.

"Kid," he begins, occasionally moving his head so there's nowhere Sid can look without his face in the way, "I'm gonna teach you the two most important words you'll ever hear: use protection...wait, that's not it. Check your privilege! No, wait...that's three words, and it's stupid."

Feigning forgetfulness, Jack looks off to the side as he clicks his right fingers over and over again. "Wait, I got it. _Probable cause._ Now, because you ran away as soon as you saw my badge, something that Principal Callaghan can corroborate, then that made me suspicious that you have something to hide. Therefore, I have probable cause to search you for anything that you don't want me to find..."

The image of Sid's hand tensing on the strap of his backpack barges its way to his mind, so he hooks his left hand around the strap and pulls it off the increasingly petulant sixteen year old, and it doesn't take a lengthy amount of rooting through the books, pens, pencils, stationery and secret pockets for him to find the contraband. Two fingers pinch the small bag, and as he pulls his out, his heart clenches and indignant rage surges within as his eyes rest upon the inimitable white crystals of methamphetamine.

Brandishing it sternly, he snarls, "...let me guess, sugar? No, wait - medicinal? Oh, I got it...you were _looking after it for a friend_ , am I right?"

* * *

 _sid, breaking bad is just a TV show._

 _I think I'm channelling too much Danny Williams from Hawaii Five-0..._

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, jpbake, eireneharmonia, hornedgoddess, ghost angel14, stefalove, heartonfire** and **scottydog** for reviewing!_


	53. fifty-three

_chapter word count: 473_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-three**

Sid's initially petulant eyes widen in horror, and his face goes a white comparable to when he first saw Jack's badge - it's definitely his little bag, and the fear he is exuding from every pore tells as much. Possession of drugs is illegal anyway, but meth? Jack doesn't know which angers him more; that this kid has meth in his bag, or someone actually _sold_ it to him.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Jack doesn't need to turn his head, nor cast a side glance to recognise the owner of that voice, the gruff tone is enough: Calhoun. Generally found wearing tracksuits of varying colours, and a blond bob featuring bangs that trail across her right eye, Jack used to and still thinks that she vaguely resembles the coach from _Glee._

Eventually he does turn his face towards her, and...yep...still the same Calhoun. Blue tracksuit, arms crossed, scowling. "Jack, izzat you? Geez, you look like hell."

"Always a pleasure, Coach." he drawls.

Frowning, she continues her mild disbelief. "Last time I saw you was-"

"Macbeth, yeah." Jack finishes for her whilst simultaneously grabbing the collar of an escaping Sid, who evidently thinks it's a good time to sneak away, and pulls him right back against the wall without even looking. Forcing a smile, he prays Calhoun doesn't go against character and be all concerned; the school production of _Macbeth_ is _not_ a happy memory.

"Yeah. So why've you got our resident troublemaker pinned to a wall?" she asks, her tone still gruff but far less confrontational. That's _weird._

Sid begins to panic, and mutter something like _pleasedon'ttellher, pleasedon'ttellher._ Of course, Jack knows better than most not to hide things from Calhoun. "Oh, no reason. Other than this," he holds the tiny bag over to the coach. Taking it, she frowns for a few seconds while she examines the clear plastic bag's contents, before her face goes blank in realisation. Stepping forward, she brandishes the bag like it's a discipline stick and practically growls.

"This had _better not_ be what I think it is."

Sid seems to have another of his bright ideas by rapidly shaking his head, but lying to both a cop and one of the most intimidating staff members in the school is bad mojo, a concept Jack reminds him of with a reprimanding _whap_ to the back of his head, _NCIS_ style.

"Ow!" he yelps, his hand shooting up to massage the impact site, "okay! Okay! It's...it's meth…"

Jack removes his hand from the defeated boy's shoulder, linking it with the other in an unimpressed cross. "You should probably start telling the truth, Sid, 'cause what you say next could be the most important words in your _life."_

* * *

 _special thanks to: **hornedgoddess, stefalove, jpbake, oninoko, heartonfire** and **scottydog** for the reviews!_


	54. fifty-four

_chapter word count: 436_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-four**

So, with what Jack assumed to be the threat of jail time in the back of the young boy's mind (possession as a juvenile means he'll only get community service, house arrest or tagging, but the kid obviously doesn't know that) and under the stern eyes of Coach Calhoun, Sid confesses all.

It's classic popularity. The kids Sid hangs out with are all from troubled families, so it reflects in their behaviour. Disobedience here. Vandalism, bullying, stuff like that there. Only, this particular group likes to dabble in marijuana - so here's young Sid, eager to prove himself in the clique.

And the easiest way to do that, in his mind? Get hold of a controlled substance.

"He said his name was J-Gun, and he could hook me up with some meth." Sid mumbles.

Jack absorbs the information, while controlling the ire about someone actively selling to high school kids. Attempting a calm a voice as possible, he says, "How much did you pay for it?"

Sid shrugs, but his eyes remain low like a thoroughly scolded child. "About twenty bucks."

Jack quirks his lips sideways, while letting loose a quick and sharp breath through his nose. "Figures." he sighs.

Calhoun cocks an eyebrow as she looks at him in mild confusion. "What?" she enquires curiously.

"Meth is expensive, way more than your average high school kid can afford. That's why it's usually impure; the cheaper the meth, the more impure it is. All kinds of stuff is mixed in - so the cheap stuff kills you quicker." Jack explains, pocketing his hands as he eyes the bag between Calhoun's fingertips. She glances suspiciously at it, just before he adds "...but that's not the worst part."

"What's worse than _that?"_ she gapes incredulously. Oh, Coach, if only you knew.

"This J-Gun probably gave Sid a sample. Some of the good stuff. He hands it around to his friends, they get hooked, they want more, Sid goes back to J-Gun, who then sells him the cheap stuff and doesn't tell him. Sid starts selling, gives J-Gun the profit minus a small cut. Meaning - J-Gun starts his own little narcotics empire in high schools."

Calhoun's face twists into a furious scowl. Yeesh, how Jack didn't miss _that_ expression. "Son of a bitch…" she snarls, and her hand threatens to crush the bag of meth. Jack's lips quirk once more, and he nods - grim and slow.

"So...what happens to me now?" Sid asks plaintively, looking up at Jack's stern gaze.

* * *

 _this little arc will be over shortly, promise! Oni, all will be revealed. *waves madly to zulka*. thank you so much, jelsashipper!_

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, doomstone, scottydog, lunasnoir, stefalove, hornedgoddess, jelsashipper, oninoko, heartonfire** and **zulka** for the reviews!_


	55. fifty-five

_chapter word count: 476_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-five**

"Possession of a controlled substance is a misdemeanour, which means one year in Arendelle Correctional" he states flatly, but can't resist moving his head so he can wink at Calhoun without being seen. Possession as a juvenile meant Sid would only see community service, tagging, maybe house arrest...but not jail. However, Sid doesn't know that, so while it might be evil, Jack sees it as an opportunity to scare him straight.

The poor boy predictably freaks out. "Please! Please don't send me to jail!" he blurts in a panic, his face white as a sheet. Jack's eyes return to his wide orbs, and tries _so_ hard not to smirk.

"Make you a deal. You tell me where I can find this J-Gun, and Calhoun and I will forget this ever happened. I'll still have to talk to Callaghan about it, but I'm pretty sure he'll be on board-"

"Thank you!" Sid gasps in relief.

"-but there's one condition." Jack pauses, and cocks his head to Calhoun whilst staring at the boy, "Coach, what are Sid's grades like?"

"From what I hear? Awful." comes the clipped, rather blunt reply.

"Here's the condition: you have to work on your grades. You've got two years left before you graduate, if I don't hear you've got at _least_ C's by then, I will be coming back." Jack finishes, adding the last part as an unnecessary threat.

It works, though. "I'll get B's, I promise!" he enthuses, and for a moment Jack is swept up in the relieved excitement. Even if the morning started bad, and got worse with the mind games thanks to Mrs Elsa Black, at least he's managed to save one kid from a downward spiral.

"Good," Jack says pointedly, "make sure you do, 'cause I'll know if you don't. You see, Coach Calhoun will be watching you," he pauses, cocking his head to the intimidating woman whilst keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon Sid, "won't you, Coach?"

"Like a goddamn _hawk."_ she practically growls her agreement, folding her arms while watching him, indeed, like the predatory bird.

Jack claps his hands together, and says in an uncharacteristically jovial voice, "Great! I'll take that," he reaches over to retrieve the small bag, "and fill Callaghan in. Nice seeing you again, Coach, and remember what I said, Sid. Don't fuck it up."

Sid nods vigorously, and rapidly gives Jack the location of J-Gun before he sprints back the way he came, and mercifully no further words are exchanged between Jack and his once-coach before he turns to leave - except for her distant yell of " _All right, listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once! 'Fear' is a four-letter word, ladies! You wanna go pee-pee in your big-boy slacks, keep it to yourself! It's 'make your mamas proud' time!"_ to the football squad.

Eleven years on, and she still hasn't changed that line.

* * *

 _Not long now, then Elsa pops up again. Yes I am missing writing her, and her interaction with Jack. Noircorda - the theme of love and people's perceptions of it runs through this fic. Elsa's perception of it is...nihilistic, to a degree._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, oninoko, scottydog, heartonfire, hornedgoddess, jpbake, stefalove** and **noircorda** for the reviews! *waves to zulka*_


	56. fifty-six

_chapter word count: 332_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-six**

Jack's already out of the Impala and striding through the alleyway towards this J-Gun guy before he knows it.

Just like Sid said _\- "When I saw J-Gun, he was hanging around the alleyway a few blocks away, between the laundromat and the convenience store on Seventh"_ \- he's there. Caucasian, wearing a far-too-loose basketball vest over pants that are practically at his knees, he's leaning with one hand against a wall while he makes the move on some girl that's too high or too drunk to tell him to go away. " _Hey baby, I'm a criminal gangster, you wanna be my girl?"_

Not only that, but he's got a friend. Taller, thinner, with a beanie hat covering his shaggy blonde hair and smoking a joint, and his hands occasionally drop down to the bulge in the front of his pants - too high to be his probably-tiny-pecker, so it's definitely a piece. Unregistered, most likely.

As he strides towards J-Gun, his chest full of incensed heat and his mind full of dark thoughts - most of which end with J-Gun eating a bullet - he reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out one of the mandatory items any detective should have in their pocket - latex gloves. Slipping it on his right hand, he yells out, "Hey, are you J-Gun?"

The guy's head turns towards Jack, and he scowls deeply - maybe he was going to get lucky, and Jack just ruined it. He pushes off the wall and swaggers towards Jack, who walks like the wrath of hell is behind him. "Yeah?" he challenges, gesturing with both hands in an attempt to intimidate, "What's your problem, dawg?"

Jack is only a few feet away when he answers. "You are," he growls, winds his right hand back, and smashes his gloved fist into J-Gun's nose with such force that the bone shatters under his knuckles.

* * *

 _sorry this is a day late - I was struck with inspiration to write a Deus Ex Jelsa fic two days ago, set during the Human Revolution storyline. Three of five chapters in before I noticed I was late with this update. Keep your eyes out for Deus Ex: Revenant!_

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, zulka, guest, edgarallansnow, hornedgoddess, stefalove, oninoko, lunasnoir** and **scottydog** for reviewing!_


	57. fifty-seven

_chapter word count: 702 (oops)_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-seven**

J-Gun screams in agony and collapses backwards to the ground, both hands shooting up to his face to try and stem the torrent of blood from his nose. The woman he was hitting on promptly squeaks and makes a hurried exit, but his friend Beanie Hat on the other hand quickly dives into his pants to retrieve the gun. Except Jack is a _lot_ quicker, and his Glock has already been drawn from its holster and is pointed at the friend's head before the silver .22 revolver even leaves the saggy elastic hem of his black tracksuit pants.

"Ah-ah-ah." Jack says, and he thumbs the safety off to prove a point. Beanie Hat's face goes white, and he slowly moves his hands into the air whilst staring fearfully at the steady Glock. "Drop the piece, two fingers, then get the fuck out of here," Jack continues, "or my trigger finger starts getting itchy."

Beanie Hat quickly obliges, dropping the revolver onto the floor before sprinting in the same direction as the girl. Of course, leaving J-Gun alone - so much for loyalty. "Oh man," J-Gun cries, trying to hold back the crimson flowing down his face, "you broke my fucking nose!"

Holstering the Glock, Jack adopt his best impression of dismay and kneels down to the whimpering dealer while his newly free hand dives into his other blazer pocket. "Oh, I am _so_ sorry," he fake-gasps, "let me see if I can do anything for you!"

There's a sickening crunch, and J-Gun shrieks as Jack holds his nose with the latex-gloved hand, pinches, and jerks his hand to straighten the fracture. Sure, he's actually helping the dealer, but there's a method to Jack's madness - as he wipes his hand across the flowing blood before peeling off the glove and sticking it into another mandatory item all detectives should carry: an evidence bag - he also plucks a few hairs and tosses them in too

"The hell was - oh God, that hurts - the hell was that for, man?" J-Gun whines.

"The punch?" Jack says as he zips the plastic bag shut, "That was for me. You see, I know all about your little gig selling meth to high school kids. They're just kids, trying to find their way in the world and not end up like _you,_ and there you are selling something that will ruin their lives. I really, _really_ hate scumbags that prey on kids...and normally, I'd arrest them. But you? I'm doing something different."

Jack straightens his tie and re-adjusts the blazer's lapels as he pauses for dramatic effect - judging by the lack of J-Gun's whining and writhing, he's listening intently. "From now on, if you or any of your friends ever set foot within five hundred feet of _any_ school - high, elementary or fucking _kindergarten -_ if I even hear a _rumour_ of you dealing to kids again," he pauses again and holds up the bloody glove, half-smirking to counteract the fire in his eyes, "this little piece of evidence will find its way into a nice crime scene. I'm thinking murder, so instead of ten years for possession with intent to distribute that you'll probably serve two of before you're let out on good behaviour, at which point you'll go right back to dealing to kids again, you'll get twenty-five to life being a plaything for Big John. Got it?"

J-Gun gapes. "You'd plant evidence, stitch me up?"

"To protect innocent kids from shitbags like you? You're damn right." Jack snarls. "So, do we understand each other?"

J-Gun nods vigorously, wincing as the pain in his nose reasserts itself. Standing up, Jack tells him to scoot - which he does, and rather quickly at that - before pocketing the bag and returning to his Impala. Sure, planting evidence is breaking the law, making a mockery of everything he's supposed to stand for and lending credence to everyone else's opinion, but to protect children from the darkness in which he dwells and sees every day?

No contest.

* * *

 _jack isn't your average cop. his sense of right and wrong doesn't always sync with the law. Could it be what Elsa sees in him? Maybe. Speaking of Elsa, if I can figure out something, she'll be up next. If not, another Jack one with a bit of a jump._

 ** _colormeaya:_** _only if he knows about it :P he really is trying to take Jack down. more will be revealed about that. **edgarallansnow:** ta-da. Arrest him, sure, but Jack wants to make sure he _never _does it again._

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, stefalove, oninoko, doomstone, colormeaya, hornedgoddess, scottydog, edgarallansnow** and **littletimothy** for reviewing!_


	58. fifty-eight

_chapter word count: 412_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-eight**

Well now, isn't that _interesting._

At first, she just wanted to know her enemy, but now...such insatiable curiosity. Stimulation. Dare she think it...magnetism.

After all, most of the men in her life have been remarkably _boring,_ supremely _predictable,_ and _weak._

"Someone's been a very naughty boy...haven't we, my dear Jack?" Elsa purrs playfully as she follows the little timeline she's made of Jack's exploits consisting of over a dozen internet tabs. First up is Mockingbird, who liked to mimic the signatures of famous serial killers. Then there's the Skinner - tediously self-explanatory - all the way to the White Fairy.

Yet, there's no record of the Fairy being caught, and Elsa knows that reporters would be all over any capture even with her low opinion of the media. It's like Jack just...stops. No more captures, no more press conferences where his eyes glimmer with confidence - and on one occasion, he actively taunted the Son of Mengele live on air - he just falls off the face of the earth.

Until…

 _(Top Detective Faces Accusations of Misconduct)_

The curious thing? When Jack's exploits stopped, so did the Fairy's. Could it be?

The _outlandish_ idea that Jack may have...no, that's a little _too_ far-fetched - but he _does_ have a darkness with him. Maybe it's the darkness, the rage inside him that attracts her. The flash in his eyes that she imagines, as he holds her hands behind her back…taking control...

Shivering at the thought, she doesn't realise how her breaths have come in light pants, nor how her lips have curled into an almost predatory smile while her mind was allowed to wander too far down Lust Alley. She _likes_ that feeling, the breathlessness, the want, the desire.

The memory of her glancing out of the kitchen window while he talked on the phone floats to her mind's eye, as well as his cynical blurt of " _...used to…"_ when she asked if he believed in love. He desired someone, and someone desired him - that much was obvious. Someone who crushed his hopes while he gazed at something in his hand...a trinket, maybe?

Biting her lip to cope with the heat in her abdomen, she brings up another internet tab...and this time, she has a new target - "So…" she murmurs as she debates where to start looking, "who held and broke the heart of Jack Frost?"

* * *

 _this one was difficult to write, as I'm trying to differentiate the narrative between Jack and Elsa. Took a few rewrites and the invaluable help of zulka, coupled with a few observations from oni and from my wife to put this one together._

 _but DAMN if she isn't fun to write. *fans self*_

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, hornedgoddess, stefalove, oninoko, whimsical acumen, jpbake, doomstone, scottydog** and **heartonfire** for reviewing!_


	59. fifty-nine

_chapter word count: 569_

* * *

 **noir heart: fifty-nine**

Though she be but little, she is fierce.

Spoken by Helena in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , written by Shakespeare when he was asked to describe Detective Gogo Tomago in a nutshell - that's the feeling Jack gets, at least.

Unlike her far calmer partner Detective Hamada who stands just an inch shorter than Jack, Gogo is one of those people who compensates for her diminutive five-four height by applying serious sass, a hot temper and one hell of a sharp tongue. Word in the office is that she is absolutely _ferocious_ when questioning suspects...and right now, that ferocity is storming up to him.

It's when she pulls the gum out of her mouth and sticks it to a disgusted Detective Tuffnut's desk that he knows - shit just got real. "The _hell_ is your problem, Frost?!" she yells at the top of her voice before he's even set foot into the office.

"Oh look, Angry Smurf." Jack mutters to himself, rolling his eyes. Honestly, he hasn't opened his mouth or done _anything_ and he's already getting crap. "Nice to see you too, Gogo." he drawls, pocketing his hands. Curious - Gogo's dressed in her usual leather jacket and denim pants...but the shirt isn't hers.

Gogo scowls. Squaring up, she broadens her shoulders and is just about to push him when Tadashi catches up and holds her back - interesting...there's a red mark on his neck. " _Get off, Tadashi!"_ she snaps, wrestling her arms out of her partner's restraint, "What gives you the right to steal our case, huh?! Where do you get off getting us _lawful_ detectives re-assigned?!"

Scrunching his eyebrows, Jack looks from Gogo to her partner and back again. "Um...what?" he says blankly. "Gogo...I _just_ walked in, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Oh, but he does. Half an idea, anyway - and it's confirmed when he catches Aster's eye. Pushing himself off the doorframe of Captain Moors' office, the tall Aussie is wearing a mild wince as he approaches. So _that's_ the new case, whatever it is. Gogo looks about ready to punch him one when Tadashi, not without a suspicious frown in Jack's direction, mutters something in her ear and gently ushers her away. "You're an asshole, Frost!" she hisses as they pass through the door he just came in.

Shaking his head as he watches them leave, Jack then looks at his partner in bewilderment. "You know, I kinda feel sorry for Tadashi." he drawls.

"I know, right?" Aster says with a slightly too loud voice, "Gogo looks ready to punch someone."

"No, not that. I'm wondering if he'll survive the next time they sleep together." Jack clarifies.

Aster gapes. "Wait, what? How'd you figure-"

"Easy. Tadashi has a hickey on his neck, and a couple of scratch marks too. They probably did it this morning and it made them late; I can't smell his aftershave or her perfume." he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"So? Who says it's Gogo he's doing the horizontal tango with?" Aster frowns, gesturing toward the door.

Jack chuckles. "She's wearing his shirt. Meaning: she's claiming him." Turning back, he starts towards Moors' office and snarks over his shoulder, "I thought you were a detective?"

* * *

 _shots fired, Jack. Shots fired. Tadashi and Gogo will pop up again at some point, and the next update is Elsa. I must confess, I'm loving the reactions to the last chapter. Elsa is definitely a favourite it seems._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, rainbowcolorw0w, ghost angel14, nytshayd, oninoko, lunasnoir, edgarallansnow, stefalove, jpbake, scottydog** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews! (yeesh, that's a lot of people)_


	60. sixty

_chapter word count: 422_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty**

It's tricky, but then again worthwhile pursuits are never easy. Simply searching Jack Frost on Facebook has yielded a tediously large amount of fan pages dedicated to some childish movie character, so _that's_ a disappointing bust. Elsa can only assume that if he even _had_ a social networking page, it has been long deleted. She would be lying if she said it didn't frustrate her, but then again...the thrill of the hunt is in the chase, no? And she _is_ on the hunt.

Frowning, she laces her fingers together and steeples her index fingers against her lips when a helpful thought crosses her mind - the image of an invite bearing her late husband's name to the A.P.D retirement fundraiser ball two years ago. Naturally she did not go...but if anyone was to be there, the department's wonder detective would definitely qualify for such an event. Which meanpictures.

She decides it's worth a shot, and proceeds to find the A.P.D Facebook page.

"I wonder what you would look like in uniform…" she murmurs, looking off to the side with a smirk, just barely reining her mind back from fantasizing about peeling it off. "Down, Elsa." she reprimands herself; any further down that particular fantasy and at least _one_ of her hands will be otherwise occupied. Business now, _other things_ later.

Sure enough, there's a status update thanking the attendees, rather sycophantically thanking the donors - suck up to the check-writers, _obviously -_ and suggesting anyone who wants to view pictures of the event should proceed to the " _#apdball"_ page. Her heart thumping with anticipation of victory, she nibbles her lower lip as she clicks the hashtag - and that's where she finds her.

 _ **Rapunzel Corona:**_ _Had a great time at the ball, and congrats to Jack for ur award! U deserve it, hon!_

The comment, _right_ below a photograph of a brightly smiling, youthful woman with her hair in a brunette bob, wearing in Elsa's begrudging opinion a rather lovely lilac bodycon halter neck dress. There's a strange glimmer of jealousy in Elsa's heart, but also victory as Rapunzel stands with her arm linked to a dress uniform-clad, tall and proud Jack Frost.

And oh, that mischievous smile is to kill for.

"My, aren't you a pretty little thing…" Elsa murmurs as she gazes, half-smirking, at the profile picture of one Rapunzel Corona having clicked it faster than you can say ' _murder one'_. "Found you…"

* * *

 _uh-oh._

 _special thanks to: **fantasy oh yea, oninoko, rainbowcolorw0w, jpbake, littlemiss-rozaAnn, hornedgoddess, stefalove** and **ghost angel14** for the reviews!_


	61. sixty-one

_chapter word count: 487_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-one**

"No. No freaking way." Jack flatly refuses, shaking his head as he shoots up from the chair like it's on fire. What are they trying to do, kill him?

"Jack, this is a case that has your name all over it, mate." Aster protests, gesturing to the manila folder resting on the desk in front of the good captain as he sits opposite her. "Gogo and Tadashi were taken off this so we could have it."

"I don't give a flying fuck," Jack snaps, pacing the floor with his hands on his hips. "Give it back to them, I don't want it."

Never mind that the whole situation smells fishy - the morning's entertainment with Mrs Black has done enough to remind him that he's not ready for a big case, and probably never will be. "Detective Frost," Moors calmly weighs in, "you were recommended for this investigation."

"Bullshit," Jack snaps, "you and I both know that I'm the black sheep of the unit. Gogo and Tadashi are good people, sharp cops. Give it back to them."

"Mate, it's already been decided." Aster broaches, but there's a weird sense of urgency in his voice that has Jack curious. "Three double homicides, all with the same signature-"

"Ah-ah-ah. Don't tell me any more, I don't want to know." Jack interrupts, his hand shooting up to silence him. "I'm not interested. Find someone else to go with. I'm done with homicides."

With his back turned, there's an uneasy silence that descends into the room, tense enough to be cut with a knife. Breathing heavily, Jack's heart pounds in his chest. They're trying to kill him. That has to be it. Some wise guy up top has got the bright idea of giving Jack a big case so they can watch him crash and burn. Set him up for a fall, so I.A. can swoop in. "Fuck that," he mutters under his breath.

"Why, Detective Frost?" Jane asks softly - she is _never_ soft. Is everyone lying? "Why is it that you are scared of accepting this case?"

"Because-!" Jack whirls around with a shout, his chest rising and falling with each loud breath through his nose. Glaring at Captain Moors, his eyes flick down to the folder and back up again. Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose and says with a much calmer voice, "...because the last time I got involved in a case, I lost everything. I can't go through that again."

Moors and Aster are bereft of a response, so it's the ideal time for Jack to leave. Turning to the door, he rests his hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry, but you should find someone else." he mutters over his shoulder, before sweeping out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 _I could condense this update into five words and a gesture. "Nope. Nope-nope-nope."*Jack flips them off with both hands* "NOPE."_

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, nytshayd, jpbake, edgarallansnow, rainbowcolorw0w, oninoko, lunasnoir, zulka, ghost angel14, stefalove, hornedgoddess, heartonfire** and **riverfall** for the reviews!_


	62. sixty-two

_chapter word count: 539_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-two**

Gogo is in that kind of mood where Tadashi knows it's in his best interests to shut up, agree with everything she says and not get in her way. She's in the kind of seething temper where there's only one way she can relieve the stress - with their day now free thanks to being re-assigned, she's got plenty of time to do it as well.

Hence the speed-limit-breaking motorcycle ride to her apartment.

"Stupid, arrogant, selfish-" she angrily mutters to herself as she practically _shoves_ the key into her apartment door, unlocks it and kicks it open. There's a flash of fear in Tadashi's gut - he hasn't written his last will and testament.

Following her into the hallway, his eyes take in the dark purple walls with growing curiosity. "Hey," he says offhandedly as he closes the door behind him, "how come I've never been in your apartment before-"

"Shut up, Tadashi!" Gogo snaps, in the process of slipping out of her denim pants on the way to the bedroom, revealing black French briefs. His favourite.

"Shutting up." he grimaces, but still takes the time to notice his surroundings whilst Gogo _still_ angrily mutters out loud. Walking into the living room, he quickly glances at her receding figure and promptly feels his heartbeat race while his pants tighten - the shirt has come off so she's only clad in her matching bra and briefs, and she's unclasping the former. She is a goddess to him, but whether it's the goddess of war or passion, he's not quite sure. Maybe _both._ All he knows is that he'd better follow the trail of clothes to the bedroom.

As he walks, his eyes trace over the pictures on the living room wall; some are of the _Tour de France_ , others of famous motorcyclists like Valentino Rossi and Jenny Tinmouth, and there's a rather awesome commission of her motto in purple lettering on a black background - " _stop whining, woman up!"_

The bra hits the floor next with a soft clatter, and his pants become painful when he involuntarily pictures her bare chest above his head. "Of all the backstabbing, bureaucratic, crappy things to pull, it's _that-"_ she continues to rant as she enters the bedroom out of his sight. Tadashi's steps quicken - the longer Gogo waits, the more frustrated she gets, the more bruises _he_ suffers. Heading to the bedroom door, he notices a shelf just to its left upon which a gold roller-skating trophy resides. "Roller Derby winner of twenty-eleven…" he quickly reads the plaque out loud as he comes to a stop outside of her room. "Hey, I didn't know you were- _hyuuuk!"_

The next thing he feels is Gogo yanking him into the bedroom by his shirt, and before he knows it and with zero preamble, he's naked on her bed, while she furiously rides him, biting into his shoulder while breathless moans escape her throat. With how pissed off she is, there's every chance he'll be dead by morning.

Oh well, there's worse ways to go, and angry sex isn't one of them.

* * *

 _been itching to put this one up. I don't know why. Perhaps its the hint of Tomadashi smut. Love Gogo, she's my top BH6 character._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, hornedgoddess, stefalove, doomstone, jpbake, silverrain0 (doge!)** and **oninoko** for the reviews!_


	63. sixty-three

_chapter word count: 486_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-three**

Beatrice Lafayette is a sort of constant in Jack's life, pretty much the _only_ constant ever since he moved into the building - no matter what changes, she'll always be huddled under a blanket on a tattered cardboard bed a few feet away from the apartment block's main door, wearing a smile on her face as she watches the world go by. It's like being seventy-five, homeless and losing her family in New Orleans to Katrina hasn't dimmed her spirit.

It's probably why Jack adores her so much and calls her his ' _southern belle'_.

"Aw, cher!" she gushes in a thick Cajun drawl, "you shouldn't have!"

Jack, half-smiling, navigates to sit in a space by her side and passes one of the bottles of whiskey plus a chicken and lettuce sandwich he bought on the way home from work, as per his evening routine. Taking it with a gnarled, mocha-skinned hand, she gratefully accepts the gift and wastes no time in unscrewing the cap. "S'gonna be a cold night, mon ami. Much appreciated."

"Can't let my best girl go without some warmth tonight." Jack says, clinking his bottle with hers. Beatrice giggles, pulling the dirty grey cardigan tighter around her. She's right - the weather is forecast to have snow during the night. She's still giggling shyly even as she takes a sip from the bottle.

"Awww, you smooth talker, Jack. I'm old enough t'be ya grandma - mais if I was twenny-five, I would _not_ say no!" she coos, placing the bottle by her side while she sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. Flirting like this between them is common, and is usually the precursor to a long conversation about everything and nothing, sat on a cardboard bed, leaning against the rough stone wall of his apartment block while drinking moderately-priced whiskey.

"Ohhh!" she gasps scandalously, which usually means gossip, "ye know dat man who's livin' in the apartment block over dere, 'cross the way? Well, I saw him…"

Jack smiles, and sips his whisky as he listens to Beatrice wax lyrical about how she saw some random guy bring home the third girl in a week, and watches her wrinkled face as the expressions come and go like leaves on a windy day. How her nose crinkles when she talks disapprovingly of the guy's lack of respect for women, her eyes widen when she realises that the sandwich was from Arendelle Filling which means the best in the city, and how her face lights up with joy when she regales him with tales of her family in the Big Easy.

She's kind of a living reminder, as someone who has lost everything yet still possesses the enthusiasm and sass of a woman a third her age, that maybe - just maybe - the world ain't so shit.

* * *

 _new OC, specifically for this story. shattered, but wanted to chuck this up for you to read. means a lot that you all do. Might do a Tomadashi smut spinoff, who knows._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, littlemiss-rozaAnn, jpbake, oninoko, ghost angel14, stefalove** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews!_


	64. sixty-four

_chapter word count: 556  
_ _warning: dark themes, including suicide and suicidal thoughts_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-four**

The other side of the coin to his routine is the alcohol. Normally it's used to suppress or forget, and generally that's what happens to Jack on the nights where he makes his liver regret having the misfortune of being a part of his body. Unless it's a night like tonight, where the whiskey not only _fails_ to help him block out the memories, but makes them all the more _intense._

 _Where is my son, Detective?! Why can't you find my son?!_

Slumped on the sofa with the whiskey in one hand, he stares vacantly with a parted mouth at his father's old revolver as the images, voices, sounds and smells hit him all at once like a barrage of grief and pain, evil and shadow. Shirt untucked, necktie loosened, he's in a sorry state.

 _Your family was...they were involved in a carjacking. I'm...I'm sorry, kiddo._

Guilt and rage swirl around him like a self-destructive maelstrom. He couldn't prevent the kidnappings. _None_ of the families will ever have the closure of their child's body - because that was the Fairy's design. His last hurrah, his laughter in the face of justice and decency. Every single one under Jack's watch, and he failed all of them.

 _You're useless, Jack. The great, brilliant, all-seeing Jack Frost, and you can't even find a child. How pathetic._

A tear slide down his cheek as he swallows past the lump suffocating him, remembering each and every one of the children's faces. Evey's blonde pigtails. Thomas' freckled cheeks. James' emerald eyes. Alexandra's winning smile. A line of photographs on a display wall, victims of the White Fairy. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and they are there, watching him. Judging him. Over a dozen children with deathly white skin, milky eyes and emotionless visages.

 _How many families, Jack? How many empty caskets? Face it, Jack the Ripper. You should die._

Maybe the Fairy is right. Maybe he _should_ die. After all - none of the unit cares. Aster is perfectly capable of going on without him. No family. Hell, even Beatrice would be better off, at least he won't be enabling her drinking. Mrs Black? Hah. Her life has just begun, now she's free of that psychopath.

 _If you let me fall, you'll never find them._

So, for the thirty-ninth time in eight months, he numbly leans over and picks up the revolver in his left hand. One bullet, five empty chambers. Russian roulette. He feels like he's drowning in sorrow and frustration - and though leaving it up to chance is cowardly and more than likely a sign that he doesn't _truly_ want to die, he still presses the barrel against his temple. Painfully so.

 _You always did underestimate me. I will find them, but you won't be alive to see it._

He wonders morbidly if anyone will notice. His teeth clench together, and his breaths come short and sharp exclusively through his nose. Scowling, his finger begins to squeeze, and the hammer pulls back.

Eyes streaming, his throat utters a sustained roar of anguish, and he prepares himself for the end.

The finger squeezes the trigger all the way back.

 _CLICK._

* * *

 _mood whiplash, anyone? after this, the plot really kicks into gear. Really pleased to see Beatrice went down well. OGaV is coming, but it's really tricky to write at the moment._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, oninoko, silverrain0, jpbake, stefalove, hornedgoddess, ghost angel14** and **doomstone** for the reviews!_


	65. sixty-five

_chapter word count: 620_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-five**

"I know, right?" the young woman says as she turns the key into her house's front door, the one she shares with her housemate Ariel. "Professor Tremaine's given us this massive thesis to do. I don't know if I can get it done in time! At least, not without intravenous coffee…"

Phone held tightly to her ear, she switches on the hallway light which immediately bathes the cosy, summery yellow walls in a healthy glow. She drops the bag of shopping on the floor - usual accoutrements, but with the added spice of fresh oranges for some home-made juice tomorrow - so she can slide out of her coat with one hand.

"Exactly. I don't like to talk behind her back, but she _really_ doesn't like us. Oh, by the way, how're things going with your father?" she asks as she decides her first stop is the kettle - she knows she shouldn't have coffee after ten at night as it keeps her awake, but given her college workload that's _kind of_ the idea.

Coat hooked up, she bends down to pick up the bag and walks to the nearby kitchen down the hall, all the while glued to the phone. There's a weird, muffled sound coming from the living room, but she's too focused on what Belle has to say to really notice it. "Aww, I'm glad to hear he's doing okay. Say, when are you back in the city? We _so_ need to catch up - when your father's okay, of course. Monday? It's a date!" she continues, flicking her golden hair off her shoulder as she drops the bag on the counter, and then makes her way out of the kitchen towards the living room. "Totally. Hey, tell Adam to keep his hair long, it suits him. The beard makes him look like a bit of a beast, though…okay, I've got to start the thesis anyway. Take care, and give your father my best... _yes,_ my date with Phillip went great...alright, I will. See you next Monday!"

She swipes across her phone to end the call just as she rounds the corner into the darkened living room, chuckling to herself. She misses Belle, but considering it's been only her and her father for many, many years, it's not surprising that as soon as he had a heart attack, Belle was on the first plane back to Virginia.

The muffled sound appears again, and _this_ time she's all ears. A chill shoots up her spine at the unknown noise, and she reaches out for the light switch to her right, feeling her heart race. Briefly, she debates hitting the speed dial for her godmother.

The living room is instantly bathed in light. The brown leather armchair is there, so's the television and the full-to-bursting bookcase near it. Everything is just as she remembers.

Except the man tied to one of her dining chairs in the centre of the room. She gasps, frozen in place, her hand over her mouth. His eyes are wide with terror, his skin is slick with sweat, and he's yelling something she can't understand thanks to the wad of cloth in his mouth as he strains against his bonds.

But then his eyes snap to something behind her, and he yells something unintelligible while the writhing renews. Her heart stops. Slowly, she turns around...

The last thing she sees is a figure dressed in black, a cherub mask, and the glint of a taser as it darts to her neck.

She doesn't even have time to scream before the world goes black.

* * *

 _dun dun dun. happy with the reactions to the last chapter! muahahahahaha. you'll like the next update, or is it the one after that, I'm not sure. We shall see!_

 _special thanks to: **stefalove, lunasnoir, doomstone, hornedgoddess, heartonfire, oninoko, whimsical acumen, rainbowcolorw0w** and **jpbake** for the reviews!_


	66. sixty-six

_chapter word count: 782 (oopsy daisy)_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-six**

The first thing he thinks when he rounds the corner into the office with a fresh report sheet, coffee in hand is: what the hell is Elsa Black doing here? Her case was shoved with the Ripper task force - which admittedly is going nowhere due to how the Ripper is like a freaking ghost. Leaning, practically _sitting_ on his desk with her legs crossed as she watches him with a smile, she's looking pretty good - her radiant hair is impeccably braided with nary a flyaway hair, immaculately sharp makeup and wearing a black double-breasted winter coat with a plum scarf poking out. Not to mention the black pencil skirt and stockings. Yep, being a widow is _definitely_ agreeing with her, he thinks...and immediately mentally chastises himself for being so facetious.

But then he notices the brown paper bag in her crossed hands, and her presence suddenly makes sense. "Personal effects?" he asks indifferently as he approaches the desk, ignoring the quizzical looks his colleagues shoot at both him and the woman making his desk look a hell of a lot prettier.

"Yes," she confirms, one hand diving into the bag, "I wouldn't have bothered had it not been for a particular piece of jewellery...and _another_ reason." She pulls out a silver ring suspended by a neckchain, and gazes fondly at its glinting form. "A gift from my sister before the marriage - Kozmotis took it from me and wore it himself as a constant reminder that everything I was belonged to him." She sighs, wearing half a smirk that Jack does _not_ miss.

"And yet you're still here." he says coldly.

"Well, I never did get your number. It's been awhile since we last talked." she says with the smoothness of silk, ignoring his tone. Jack immediately places the coffee on the desk, sits and makes himself look busy searching for his pen - which he actually needs for the report, oddly enough.

"A whole weekend," he grunts with sarcasm, "however did you cope…"

She chuckles, and it both tingles and chills him. "I kept myself entertained conducting my own _investigation_ \- and apartment hunting too. I need my own space as a newly single woman, after all."

Jack wonders how Anna took that particular bit of news, and tries to ignore the inflection in the word 'investigation', a neon hint for him to bite. Which he inadvertently does. "Investigation into what?" he asks, diving into the drawer to his right.

She clears her throat, and Jack looks up to find her holding his pen. "Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" she purrs.

Nope. Not going there. He shoots her an annoyed look as he gently takes the pen from her, just as a uniform passes by his desk on the way to the captain's office. "Whatever. Now, if you don't mind, I've got paperwork to do."

"Of course. The wheels of bureaucracy eternally turn." she smiles as she stands, and then adds something that ever so slightly unnerves him just as the uniform makes her way back the way she came. "I'll see you soon."

She stands and makes her way to the doors before he can ask her what she means, though he is somewhat distracted by the swaying of her hips. How Kozmotis could treat her so badly, he'll never know.

The thought goes flying out of the window, though, when he hears the smash of a cup behind him, and he whirls around in his chair to see where it came from as one is apt to do.

Shards of white ceramic lay spread across the floor amid a pool of coffee, at the feet of Captain Moors who stares in shock and stunned horror at the sheet of paper in one hand, her mouth covered with the other and her eyes shimmering wet. Instantly, he darts to his feet and races to the office, ignoring the liquid on the floor and closing the door behind him. Jane looks up with wide, _how-did-this-happen_ eyes, her hands trembling. For the usually stoic 'Maleficent' to be in so much pain, something _really_ bad must have happened.

And before he can open his mouth, she whispers, "My god-daughter is dead…".

He doesn't know why, but his first instinct is to take the sheet from her shaking hand, whisper "come here…" and put his arms around her - and judging by how she buries her face into his shoulder and sobs uncontrollably, that's all she needs him to do.

Though to hear her grief, to see her as such a trembling mess, it hurts his very soul.

* * *

 _just on the right side of 800 words of content D: Also, sorry Whimsy. Just gonna reiterate that NH is going to get pretty dark. This is the start of that._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, doomstone, oninoko, hornedgoddess, whimsical acumen, edgarallansnow, lunasnoir, jpbake** and **stefalove** for the reviews!_


	67. sixty-seven

_chapter word count: 557_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-seven**

If Jane drinks any more, Jack is going to have to carry her home, never mind be her designated driver. Having taken her to _The Falling Snowflake_ , Jack's favourite bar - it's like _The Snuggly Duckling,_ but with far more class and far _less_ propensity for violence - so she can be away from the precinct, he ordered her the hard stuff, a good strong whiskey-on-the-rocks. He reckoned she'd only need one or two, when Flynn brought the glasses over to the dimly lit booth at the far end of the bar.

She's on her fifth.

Then again, she has a _lot_ of pain, grief, and guilt to drown.

"Her parents encouraged her to enrol for other colleges around the country," she murmurs numbly. Having been silent for the past hour, Jack sees no reason to do anything other than listen, and simply gazes thoughtfully at his soda while she talks, "like Corona, where it's always sunny. Aurora...she wouldn't settle for anything other than Arendelle. She said she wanted to be closer to...to me."

Her voice breaks, the classic crack when words crash against the lump in one's throat. Something she tries to hide by downing the rest of her whiskey. Jack gestures to Flynn, and orders a sixth. "She said it made perfect sense. Arendelle would be the safest place where her godmother, a _decorated,"_ she practically sneers the word, "police captain could watch over her."

Her brow trembles as one hand shoots up, just in time to cover a wracking sob. "She trusted me to protect her, her parents...trusted me...and I failed them. I f-failed _her_."

The levee breaks, and she buries her face into her hand as the tears begin anew. Fiddling uncomfortably with his soda, Jack instinctively reaches over to her free hand, and she squeezes his fingertips. He kind of knows what's coming, so no reason to prolong the inevitable, if at least to bring closure to his captain and Aurora's family. "Give me a few days to get up to speed." he sighs, catching Flynn's attention, pointing at Jane's drink and then to himself.

Jane sniffs, and the hand slowly draws away to reveal tear-stained cheeks, and an uncomprehending frown. "What?" she says, evidently not following.

Jack shuffles in his seat and shrugs with resignation, sniffing as he scratches his temple. "You can't conduct the investigation 'cause of conflict of interest, and Team Tomadashi's been assigned another case. S'only Aster and I that can take it, so...like I said...give me a few days."

Jane's eyes fall, and she slowly shakes her head. "I cannot ask you to do that."

"You don't have to," Jack explains after downing half of his newly arrived whiskey, "but this is gonna be my last case. I'll catch this prick, but after that...I'm walking away."

She nods slowly, closing her eyes. "I understand." Squeezing his hand gratefully, she says, "Thank you, Jack."

He half-smiles, and clasps his free hand over hers. "Don't mention it. For now, though, we should probably get you home before Astrid pulls me over for a DUI with my slightly-drunk captain in the car. That would be _awkward._ "

* * *

 _and he's back in the game. Hopefully the next few updates are going to be Elsa-centric. **noircorda:** no, it wasn't Elsa who murdered Aurora. _

_special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, ghost angel14, whimsical acumen, noircorda, stefalove, chiqanti ceres, hornedgoddess, oninoko, doomstone, jpbake** and **lunasnoir** for the reviews! (wow, that's quite a few!)_


	68. sixty-eight

_chapter word count: 581_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-eight**

Pulling up outside a modest-looking suburban home in the outskirts of the city, Elsa smiles to herself as she cranks the handbrake and switches off the ignition of the rental car - she does intend to buy a new one with some of the rather handsome inheritance she kept hidden from Kozmotis, but a rental will have to suffice in the meantime - she takes a brief moment to check herself in the overhead mirror. For what she's about to do, she needs to look believable.

Pretty much why she bought a light green cardigan, fake glasses and a notepad on the way over. Have to look the part of a blogger on the internet, dedicated to researching detectives, after all. Reaching over to her handbag, she retrieves the rectangular black-rimmed spectacles and then turns up the volume on the radio with the same hand, then amuses herself with getting the position on her nose just right. Acting is getting people to believe you are who you aren't, and for Elsa, nothing less than the best will do.

It's as she adjusts the bridge to either just between her eyes or just below them that she hears something _rather_ interesting on the local news station, something that at first arouses her curiosity - " _Arendelle College was left reeling three days ago, after the bodies of two of its students, twenty-one year old Aurora Mills and twenty-two year old Phillip Briarthorn, were discovered in the southeast district."_

...and then turns the smile into an outright playful smirk as her eyes flick down from her reflection to the radio - " _There have been unconfirmed reports that the maverick and disgraced Detective Jack Frost has been attached to the investigation, but the A.P.D is remaining silent on the matter. With the Ashley Madison Ripper on the loose, there's no telling whether Arendelle City can take another serial killer."_

So, maybe she'll get to see that brilliant mind in action, the one that laid her bare on the interview room table. See the cogs turn, those steely blue eyes as they examine, those delightful-looking lips as they purse in thought. As if it couldn't possibly do so, life just got better for her.

However, the racing of a jogger past her door reminds her of precisely why she has parked in one of the classic white-picket-fence, boringly cliched neighbourhoods in the city, so with a melodic and soft hum, she retrieves her handbag, slides out of the car and, once the door is safely locked behind her - not that she needs to worry, she doubts very much that the car is in danger from anything more vicious than a falling leaf - she strides up to a delightfully unoriginal lilac door, and knocks.

It takes a few seconds, and a couple of calls of ' _coming!'_ but eventually the door swings open to reveal a rather youthful looking woman with a brunette bob, emerald green eyes, paint-streaked white overalls and an expectant expression.

"Rapunzel Corona? My name is Ilsa Menzel, we spoke on the phone yesterday?" Elsa introduces herself, adopting an air of relaxed respect.

Rapunzel's mouth opens, and it takes her a few seconds to recall the name. "Oh! Yes, yes! Of course! Please, come in!" she rambles, quickly standing aside and gesturing into the house.

Elsa's smile widens. For the ex-wife of a detective, Rapunzel is _remarkably_ naive. How fortunate.

* * *

 _oooo heck. It's gonna be Elsa for a good few updates yet. **colormeaya:** interesting that you should pick that name for the bad guy :P **stefalove:** maybe, maybe not. who knows?_

 _special thanks to: **lunasnoir, doomstone, jpbake, rainbowcolorw0w, ghost angel14, heartonfire, invisible me, colormeaya, stefalove, hornedgoddess** and **oninoko** for the reviews!_


	69. sixty-nine

_chapter word count: 528_

* * *

 **noir heart: sixty-nine**

Rapunzel places two cups of tea on the coffee table in front of them, and avails herself of the white cotton armchair, while Elsa waits patiently on the matching sofa. Since her arrival, the host has been nothing but welcoming and generous, offering hot drinks and cookies, all with a natural and genuine smile. Between that, her upbeat and sunny demeanour as well as her youthful good looks, Elsa can see why Jack fell for her all those years ago. Annoyingly.

"Sorry about what I'm wearing!" Rapunzel titters nervously, noticing the streaks of paint on her chest, "I completely forgot about our appointment."

Elsa forces a smile. "No matter," she attempts something of reassurance, yet feels nothing of the sort. She loops over the cover sheet of her notepad, and produces a pen from her handbag. "Well, as I mentioned when I called, I'm researching into the private lives of some of the more successful detectives, and my first article will be about Jack Frost. I was hoping you could provide some…insight...as to what kind of a man he was, outside of his career?"

Rapunzel nods. "Gotcha. Well...where do I start…" she sighs, and there's a nostalgic smile Elsa does not miss.

"The beginning, usually." Elsa prompts with a hint of pointed sarcasm. Rapunzel seems to be too lost in memory to notice, and reaches for her cup of tea before starting her story.

"Jack and I...he was my moon, I was his sun. Cheesy, I know, but we were in love." she murmurs, eyes off to the side in recollection. Elsa resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I was with friends in a bar when we first met; he'd just graduated from the Police Academy, and was out with his buddies to celebrate becoming a cadet. Hans, Aster and...Arnulf, I think. Anyway, he came up to me. I was, like, ' _great, not another guy who thinks my clothes'll magically fall off as soon as he says hi'_ and...well...he did kinda come off cocky and a little too sure of himself."

Rapunzel sips from her tea, and her eyes crinkle with a smile. Elsa ponders how Jack can make her smile so warmly, despite them being divorced. "He asked me out on a date. Weird, right? We're both in a bar, and he asks me out on a date. Thing is, about nine different guys had hit on me that night, and I was getting pretty pissed off with it, so I shot him down. I said ' _no, I'm not looking for a guy who thinks he's God's gift to women'_. Now, every other guy had left after that, but he stayed - I was about to tell him to vamoose when he said ' _Let's make a bet. I can tell five things about you, just from your body language and what you're wearing, even though we've only just met. If I'm right about those five things, I get to take you out on a date. If I'm wrong, you never see me again. Win-win, right?'"_

* * *

 _yeah, I ship Jackunzel too. It's, like, third behind Jelsa and Janna, but it's there. No bearing on the story, though. It'll be solid Elsa for a while._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, stefalove, vrupd.1992** (really glad you're enjoying this) **, hornedgoddess, oninoko, lunasnoir, ghost angel14, doomstone, jpbake, guest** and **heartonfire** for the reviews!_


	70. seventy

_chapter word count: 428_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy**

"And was he right?" Elsa asks, eyes immovably fixed upon Rapunzel, who nods.

"Five out of five. ' _One: the way you hesitated when I asked you out on a date tells me that I'm the first person who didn't want a one night stand, and you weren't expecting that. Two: You wear odd socks and a Mickey Mouse watch, but your clothing is smart-casual - tells me that even though you're an adult, you believe in keeping in touch with your inner child. Three: the paint streak on your left hand that you missed while getting ready tells me that you're an artist, because it's not household paint. Four: you're from somewhere warm, and judging by the sun logo on your purse I'd say Corona City, because you're dressed in long-sleeved top and leggings rather than the short-sleeved shirts and skirts of your friends, who were born here. You don't like the cold, but you love the culture and your friends, so that's why you haven't moved back. Five: the way those gorgeous lips are wide open tells me I just nailed those four things'."_ Rapunzel recites, and there's an expression of mild incredulity, even all these years on, that he was so accurate. For a few seconds, the bright young woman falls silent, and she smiles to herself.

"So, what happened next?" Elsa prompts her.

"Hmm?" Rapunzel looks blankly at her, before it dawns, "well, I lost the bet, and told him to meet me at the coffee house around the corner in a couple of days. After that...well, the rest is history. We went on lots of dates, had lots of _amazing_ sex, and it was during the party celebrating him and a few of his friends passing the detective's exam that he asked me to marry him. I remember choking on a glass of wine for about a minute straight before saying yes!"

The wistful, nostalgic, almost regretful expression returns, and Elsa gets the impression that Rapunzel is questioning something - and there's no prize for guessing what that _something_ is. "You miss him, don't you?" she says.

Without looking up, Rapunzel's bob dips and rises as she slowly nods, smiling almost longingly. Not having any of that, no way, Elsa thinks. She made her choice. "Yeah...I do. I miss him a lot." The brunette takes a deep breath through her nose, and sighs, "...but I don't miss what happened a few years later."

* * *

 _turtles. also I has a new Anna pin-up tattoo._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, hornedgoddess, rainbowcolorw0w, vrupd.1992, oninoko, lunasnoir, chiqanti ceres, jpbake** and **stefalove** for the reviews!_


	71. seventy-one

_chapter word count: 519_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-one**

Elsa leans forward a little, tilting her head and slightly narrowing her eyes. "What happened?"

Rapunzel instantly opens her mouth, then visibly checks herself. Her pursed lips quirk sideways as she frowns. It's either bad, Elsa reckons, or her host isn't exactly articulate. "You have to understand what kind of a person he was, first." she declares as the cup is placed on the table. Pressing her palms together, Rapunzel's eyes dance between Elsa's and the lilac cushion a few feet to her left. "Jack was...well he could be like a big kid, sometimes. Real prankster. Never stood still...and the antics he got up to with Hans and Aster? I'm surprised he wasn't fired!"

She giggles lightly, and slides her palms against each other. "I remember one time he put chilli powder in my morning tea, so I switched his gummy bears for sugar-free gummy bears in revenge. He spent hours in the bathroom, but he wasn't angry. He found it hilarious. That's the kind of man Jack was - he was kind, loving, protective, he never brought his work home, and...you know...we argued sometimes, but we always made up later. Always made sure I smiled or laughed at least once a day, and when he looked at me it was like I was a princess."

Fascinating. Elsa shuffles forward slightly. "When did he change?"

Sure, the knowledge of who he used to be is useful as a pseudo-control group, but what she's _really_ interested in is what turned him into who he is now.

Rapunzel sniffs. "Looking back, a year after he passed the detective exam. The first cases he got were things like...you know, stuff you'd find on _Law and Order._ He and Aster were a great team for those, and they always got the bad guy. Sometimes he'd get a case involving kids and those used to shake him up, but...he'd be okay again after some wine, a cuddle, and an hour or so of _Ultimate Spider-Man._ The thing is...he had this knack for getting inside the bad guy's heads. Profiling, I think they call it. So the bigwigs started throwing bigger cases at him. Serial killers. Psychopaths. Sadists. Child murderers. All of the horrible, _horrible_ things, the darkest parts of humanity, and those were the cases he kept getting. And because he was so good, he kept closing the cases...and then, he'd get more. And more."

"It must have taken its toll," Elsa slowly nods. "To be constantly exposed to so much depravity."

Rapunzel snorts bitterly. "Put it this way - he who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

Elsa raises her eyebrows. She didn't expect that. "Friedrich Nietzsche. _Beyond Good and Evil."_

Rapunzel smiles as she glances over, but it's a grim smile that tells a story. "Honey, that could be the title of his autobiography."

* * *

 _ **jpbake** \- you should totally start one. It's weird getting into the format at first, and having to condense things, but when your chapters are shorter, they're easier to work with. I will freely admit to enjoying writing noir heart more than OGaV. Like, snapshots of a chapter rather than an actual chapter. Best part is - if you have a couple of free hours, you can rustle up quite a few as a buffer. _

_special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, doomstone, hornedgoddess, vrupd.1992, edgarallansnow, jpbake, stefalove, oninoko,** and **noircorda** for the reviews!_


	72. seventy-two

_chapter word count: 712_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-two**

Frowning, Elsa tilts her head but slants a small smile. "Are you saying that your ex-husband became a monster?"

Rapunzel vigorously shakes her head, eyes slightly widened. "Oh, no!" she says hastily, "no, nothing like that. No, Jack...I suppose you could say he looked too long into the abyss, and what he saw changed him."

She reaches over for the forgotten tea and is about to take a sip - much to the wrinkling of Elsa's nose, as it's probably approaching lukewarm by now - when she pauses. "As you can probably tell," she says, tittering awkwardly, "I like to paint. A lot. And...well, I have a portfolio of pieces I created during our marriage. I usually painted what I was inspired by, and what was on my mind at the time, so...it might be useful for you. Would you like to see it?"

Cocking a slight eyebrow, Elsa nods. Her host replaces the cup and leans down to dive her hand under the coffee table, and soon after produces a moderately thick black portfolio. "You could say that this contains an artistic record of our marriage."

Elsa leans over to place her cup on the table with one hand and accepts the portfolio with the other, and with eyes of interest and scrutiny she pours over the various works.

They start sweet...which is _so_ predictable. Rapunzel seems to have a consistent motif in that she regularly paints a nude, amber-coloured woman with impractically long, golden hair and a thin, nude, alabaster man. As far as allegories go, it's heavy-handed to the point of cliche - obviously Rapunzel is the Sun and Jack is the Moon. Each painting has the two lovers in various situations - one in particular involves the Sun and the Moon around a huge sphere, inside which an unborn baby resides. Another is a rather lustful piece where the Sun is astride the Moon, both in the throes of passion. How delightfully saccharine.

"He started zoning out every so often," Rapunzel says, and a quick glance up as she speaks tells Elsa that while her host is looking at the portfolio, her eyes are too glazed to _see_ it, "and became really...distant. I'd have to say something two or three times before he paid attention. He, um, stopped laughing as much. Smiling, too. It was like the humour had been sapped from him. Every time I asked if I could help, he'd just force a smile and say ' _I'm just tired, that's all'._ "

At this point, Elsa has turned to a piece where the the Sun has been separated from the Moon by an invisible barrier, where she is pressed against it and he has turned away. "Our sex life just...yeah. He stopped talking as much...and then he got the White Fairy case, he started coming home late, and when he did he brought his work home with him. I can't tell you how many times I found him asleep on his case files and notes when he should have been in bed with me. He started drinking a little more. We stopped talking altogether, 'cause when we did, we'd argue."

Turning over, Elsa finds quite an interesting piece entitled _Eclipse,_ of the Sun and Moon's upper bodies, where she gazes upon him with a forlorn, longing expression and reaches for him while he turns away...and there's a pitch black silhouette of a woman between them, caressing him and whispering in his ear. Fascinating representation.

"He left behind a piece of himself each day...and I realised one day when he came home, and went straight to the spare room with a bottle of whisky...when I told him I was leaving and he barely even registered it, that the man who had been walking through my door was not my husband anymore."

Rapunzel reaches over and turns the last piece to reveal, in Elsa's opinion, the most poignant one of all - Jack with his head in his hands, surrounded by the ghosts of adults and children bearing down upon him.

Sadly, almost bitterly, Rapunzel finishes with, "In the end...the dead meant more to Jack than the living."

* * *

 _not feeling this one, probably because I'm slightly out of rhythm with it. I hope it is to everyone's satisfaction. Also, I might be silent for a bit - Daredevil Season Two :D_

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, hornedgoddess, chiqanti ceres, oninoko, invisibleme, lunasnoir, doomstone, vrupd.1992, stefalove** and **jpbake** for the reviews!_


	73. seventy-three

_chapter word count: 444_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-three**

Pity.

Elsa has only felt that particular emotion once before and for only one person, when she left her family to be with Kozmotis. Pity for Anna, who looked lost and confused all the way up until Elsa got into the car to her new life. As someone who finds it incredibly difficult to empathise with anyone, believing misfortune to either be deserved or a simple case of life being life, pity is a strange sensation she only experienced once...and now twice.

She pities Jack. Pities how the people he worked for only used him for his intelligence and deductive skills, and tossed him aside when he was no longer functional. Pitied how the one person who had the greatest chance of putting him back together...walked away. A shattered mess of emotions, darkness and fear, and no-one was there for him.

Alone.

Soon, it's not just pity she feels - how strange it is to actually _feel_ something for someone other than Anna - but protective anger. Closing the portfolio, there's a very real compulsion to forcefully apply it to Rapunzel's head.

But, in the end, that's not particularly conducive, is it?

"I think I have all I need."

She's not sure she does, but there's a suspicion in her heart that the longer she stays, the more likely bad things are going to happen. "Are you sure?" Rapunzel asks in mild bemusement, "You haven't noted anything down."

Elsa merely hands the portfolio back to her host, and plasters a smile. "I have a good memory. Thank you for your hospitality, the talk has been...enlightening."

Rapunzel blinks, and almost looks a little disappointed. "Oh, okay. I'll walk you to the door, then."

Nodding once, Elsa rises from the sofa and walks - practically _strides -_ out of the living room, pocketing the unused notepad on the way. However, compulsion is as compulsion does, and there's a question that's been burning in her mind ever since Rapunzel started speaking.

"One more thing - you say you loved him," she says just as she reaches the front door, whirling abruptly enough to cause Rapunzel to start and flinch slightly in surprise. Elsa draws herself to her full height of roughly three inches taller, and the smile drops like a stone - if only be replaced by something middling between emotionless and contempt.

"...but what kind of a wife watches her husband fall apart day after day until he is nothing more than a shattered vase on the floor, and decides it's not worth putting him back together?"

Rapunzel looks like she's been slapped in the face.

* * *

 _SHOTS FIRED. ALL UNITS, SHOTS FIRED._

 _As for Judy Hopps, I haven't seen Zootopia/Zootropolis/ZooSuffixHere yet. Civil War is up first for me :D_

 _special thanks to: **lady kaalia, hornedgoddess, rainbowcolorw0w, jpbake, ilovecandy11, stefalove, oninoko, vrupd.1992** and **chiqanti ceres** for the reviews!_


	74. seventy-four

_chapter word count: 464_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-four**

"I-I...what are you-"

Elsa rolls her eyes at Rapunzel's stammering. How quaint. "It's a simple question, Ms. Corona. I would like to understand how you could stand by and allow the decline of his mental, physical and emotional health, and yet still call it love? Are you that naive, or simply stupid?"

Rapunzel's emerald eyes flash with indignant fire, and though she is at a disadvantage where height is concerned, she is evidently not the type to back down. Adorable. Straightening her spine, she lifts her chin and stares unwaveringly into Elsa's piercing blues as she asks, "Do you know what it is to love, Miss Menzel?"

Eyes narrowing slightly, she has to concede this point, however bruising it is to her ego. "No."

"Then you couldn't possibly understand what it's like to watch someone you love fall apart every day. To try everything you could to help only for it to be refused, to realise that there's nothing you can do because in the world of psychopaths, serial killers and _murder,_ you are completely out of your league. You couldn't possibly understand how it feels to wake up in the middle of the night, alone in your bed because you had a nightmare that your husband was so warped by what he had seen that he tried to kill you, and that your only outlet was your art...and even _that_ was becoming corrupted by the darkness that followed your husband home every night. How helpless you feel."

Elsa remains silent - though it's more out of trying to understand the love Rapunzel speaks about than anything else. She's right; she doesn't understand. She can't empathise. She hasn't known love, at least in a romantic form. On a roll, Rapunzel continues, "Most of all, you have no idea what it's like to know that in the end, you have to look out for yourself-"

Now _that_ Elsa can completely understand.

"-because you knew that no matter how hard it was, no matter how much it broke your heart, you had to walk away and leave your love behind - as you were losing more of yourself the longer you stayed." Rapunzel finishes. Elsa's eyebrow cocks.

"In other words - you gave up on him." she says acidly.

To her veiled and well-hidden surprise...Rapunzel slowly nods. "Yes, I did. I gave up on the man I loved, because he was no longer the man I loved."

She sweeps past and opens the door wide, standing to the side whilst glaring through the corner of her eye. "I think it's time you left, Miss Menzel," Rapunzel says with an uncharacteristically cold air, and adds, "Have a nice day."

* * *

 _noticed a little bit of Rapunzel-bashing here. It's fine, people take from it what they will. I just wanted to show that there was no real bad person, that it was just a crappy situation for the both of them._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, doomstone, lunasnoir, nytshayd, edgarallansnow, hornedgoddess, aina klinga, stefalove, ghost angel14, oninoko, jpbake, chiqanti ceres, littlemiss-rozaann** and **singing for love** for the reviews (and hai to my two new readers)!_


	75. seventy-five

_chapter word count: 496_

 _reminder that **noir heart** is dark and M-rated, with adult themes._

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-five**

Normally he'd be able to get a clue as to this guy's mindset and selection process by examining his victims, but the victimology is all over the place. Like, split-bag-of-nuts all over the place.

There's no pattern to how he selects them. Aurora Mills was blonde while Phillip Briarthorn was brunette, adding to the collected hair colours of one black, one auburn, one dark brown and another blonde - though the last one is probably more of a coincidence than anything. Two college students, a store clerk, librarian, school teacher and someone gainfully unemployed. It's not like where they live is any indication either - spread out along the neapolitan ice cream of upper, middle and lower class, whoever's killing these people sees no distinction.

It's a brilliant quality to ignore someone's class - shame the guy's conveying his apathy to it by murdering these people with less empathy than your average _Game of Thrones_ episode.

Jack massages the bridge of his nose, before he takes one last look at the dozens of pictures encircling him on the living room floor and sighs - lost in the minutiae, he's getting nowhere. So he closes his eyes and forces away all that he's learned so far.

"Every killer's got their particular quirks," he says out loud, "and he's no special snowflake. So, stop being an idiot and look at the obvious similarities."

There's one that hits him full on in the face; even as his eyes are closed, it's like someone just punched him in the forehead with the photographs. It's not the fact that they're abducted on a Friday night and unceremoniously dumped naked in the early hours of Monday morning. It's not the fact that he abducts a man and a woman each time.

The similarity is his signature - something not exactly necessary for the crime but a compulsion of his. It's what he carves into their _chests_ post-mortem _._ Right armpit, looping up over the right breast and then curving back down through the chest's centre to the right hipbone on the women, and the same shape but mirrored on the left side for the men. He inwardly flicks his temple for missing it the first time.

Fingers scrambling, he slides the photographs and M.E. reports aside to find the images of Aurora Mills and Phillip Briarthorn, taken at the scene by forensic scientists stood practically directly over them - perfect. He folds over the right edge of Phillip's photograph. Heart beating with anticipation, he slides down the similarly-taken photograph of Aurora and then practically slams down Phillip just over her, so the four points meet. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. He half-smiles, chuckling darkly as he easily recognises what the two lines form.

The unmistakeable shape of a love heart, formed by the carving of its halves on his victims.

* * *

 **noir heart** _is pretty much inspired by Luther and Criminal Minds, so there's going to be quite a few instances where you might go "YIKES". Fair warning. Don't have to read if you don't want to. **vrupd.1992 -** think of it as the first meeting hooked her, now she wants to know all she can about him. _

_special thanks to: **lunasnoir, rainbowcolorw0w, hornedgoddess, stefalove, chiqanti ceres, oninoko, doomstone, jpbake, vrupd.1992, dingo** (wonder who you could be...) **, aina klinga** and **noircorda** for the reviews!_


	76. seventy-six

_chapter word count: 338_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-six**

"There's your signature…" he murmurs to himself. Morbid and macabre, but it's a clue. His murders are related in some way to the concept of _love._

A heavy _vrrrm_ sound of something vibrating against wood practically makes him jump, such was the small rush of victory he was basking in. The photograph of Phillip valiantly and futilely attempts to return to its previously flat shape while Jack reaches for his cell, sat next to the half-empty can of Coca-Cola fuelling him for the last hour. "What the…" he mouths, frowning deeply as he recognises precisely _who_ is calling him. Curious, he thumbs the _Answer_ icon - after all, she made her feelings clear.

"Rapunzel? What's going on?"

She sounds flustered, and a little anxious. " _Jack, I know it's late, but I need to talk to you."_

"Sure," he says, and the curiosity deepens...not to mention the suspicion, "I'm at my apartment - so tell me where you want to meet and I'll be there. You okay?"

" _No, not really,"_ she titters nervously, " _I'll be at your apartment in about ten minutes. I hope you've got something strong…"_

Jack blinks. Quite a few times. Peering up at the half-empty bottle of whisky sat on his breakfast bar, he replies with an awkward, "Um, strong? Sure...um, see you in ten, I guess?"

Rapunzel acknowledges with a hurried ' _see you'_ before hanging up, leaving Jack to stare at the cell with even more confusion and curiosity than this freaking serial killer. _Those_ he can figure out, but when it comes to women...yeah. No chance.

He looks around, and notices how much of a bachelor pad - bomb site - his apartment has become. Empty bottles of beer here and there, disorganised cushions, empty glasses and used plates...yeah. After months of the occasional spruce up, his home is about to see the biggest tidy-up ever.

Starting with the crime scene photographs. If Rapunzel sees them, she's gonna freak out.

* * *

 _sorry it's taken so long. RL is brilliant like that. Next week, probably Wednesday-ish, keep your eyes out for an OGaV "trailer" teaser chapter for Act II. **doomstone** : yeah - that's all coming up later. My thoughts were that Jack's a bit rusty at the whole thing, and while he's pretty sharp, months of self-pity, depression and drinking has somewhat hampered him._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, hornedgoddess, rainbowcolorw0w, stormdragonslayer** (hai!) **, jpbake, vrupd.1992, stefalove, heartonfire, invisibleme, dingo** (I know you...) **, oninoko** and **lunasnoir** for the reviews!_


	77. seventy-seven

_chapter word count: 561_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-seven**

Tidying up in ten minutes, does that involve putting things where they're supposed to be? Hell no. The universe laughs at that concept. No, it's more like _hiding_ things. Used plates in the oven. Glasses in the sink. Beer bottles tossed into the trash and shoved inside a kitchen cupboard.

Crime scene photographs wedged out of sight under his mattress. Best place he can think of - it's not like she's going into his bedroom, after all.

Three rapid knocks send his slight panic a few levels higher, and after a quick glance around the... _tidier..._ living room, he adjusts his tie as he strides to open the door. Of course, she's seen him at his worst, so it's not like she'll judge. But, you know, decency.

Clutching her brown handbag, she looks up at him with slightly wide and expectant emerald eyes, clad in a beige jacket, lilac top and blue denim pants. She nibbles at the side of her lip, and her hands squeeze the bag straps slightly. And then her one glance toward the stairwell tells him it's something pretty important. "Hey, Jack…" she says softly.

Awkwardness is the order of the day - after all, they're technically divorced. Even if the air between them is heavy and a little electric. She is still close to his heart. "Can I...can I come in?" She asks hesitantly, as though expecting him to tell her to fuck off. Part of him wants to satisfy that expectation. Nodding slowly, he stands aside. "Thanks," she says quietly, choosing now to avert her eyes. Taking a moment to quickly check the stairwell, Jack closes the door and turns to find her standing in pretty much the same posture she was outside his home.

"You can sit, you know," he points out, frowning bemusedly with one eyebrow cocked as he gestures to the sofa with his eyes. Rapunzel blinks once or twice, and then it seemingly clicks with a start, " _oh, right, sit!"_ eventually ending with her parking her butt at the very edge of his sofa cushion. "So, what's this about?" He asks, tilting his head as he pockets his hands.

Rapunzel fidgets with her hands, and looks in the vague direction of his kitchen. Hopefully not seeing the Chinese takeout boxes in the bread bin. "Someone...someone came to see me this morning. Said she was from a blog...and asked about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. What you were like...about us...how you...well, you know."

"Okay, so - what did you tell her?"

Rapunzel looks up, and...is that _guilt?_ "The truth, Jack. She told me she was writing about the private lives of detectives, and...she knows what...who…"

"She knows how I went downhill." Jack finishes grimly. Instinctively, he further asks "Out of curiosity - this woman, did she have blonde hair in a French braid? Blue eyes?"

Rapunzel frowns bemusedly and tilts her head. "...yeah...how did you know?" she says.

He shrugs in an attempt to appear indifferent - it's probably not a good idea for Rapunzel to know that a woman who mercilessly ended her husband is now aware of where she lives. "Lucky guess, and long story. Don't worry about it."

Advice that he himself ignores, as inside he's a simmering pot of fury and concern.

* * *

 _uh-oh. Heads up, though - some Jackunzel is coming. Believe it or not, just like OGaV's Jastrid it has a point. Two, actually. Fair warning, 'cause otherwise you might wanna step away for about three or four updates._

 _special thanks to: **rainbowcolorw0w, doomstone, stefalove, hornedgoddess, oninoko, jpbake, dingo, deadbreath** (hai!) **and heartonfire** for the reviews!_


	78. seventy-eight

_chapter word count: 353_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-eight**

Rapunzel doesn't let it drop, though. Twisting on the sofa, she narrows her eyes, carefully scrutinising him. "No, seriously - how did you know?" she says, and there's a hint of accusation in her tone.

Jack sighs - now he's screwed over by his own instinct. It's too convenient for someone to randomly swing by his ex-wife's house so soon after Kozmotis' murder investigation. Too convenient for it to happen not long after Elsa seemed so interested in his love life. It was a shot in the dark that happened to be a bull's eye, and now he's cornered by his own accuracy.

His mind ticks over the catch-twenty-two; he can tell the truth, that Rapunzel had invited into her home someone who killed her husband both because he was (allegedly) abusive, and because she _could_ ; or tell a lie...but risk it all blowing up in his face.

"Jack?" she persists.

The words leave his mouth before he even registers them, and as soon as they do, his bed is made. "She dropped by the unit office a couple of days ago, and wanted to interview me. I told her I was too busy for tabloid crap." he says, shrugging like it's no big thing.

Looks like it's the lie, then.

"You're sure?" she says, studying him closely. However, working out body language is more his area of expertise, so he knows how to fake…

"Yeah. Just some reporter looking to make an easy buck. Don't worry about it."

...and she buys it. "But - that means she knows about-"

"What's done is done, Rapunzel," he says simply, starting off toward the whiskey on his kitchen counter. As he pours both himself and Rapunzel a glass, he figures it's time for a change of subject.

Turning towards her and passing the glass, he asks casually, "You hungry? Was thinking about ordering some Chinese takeout."

Sneaky - as that's Rapunzel's favourite. Therefore, the answer is as predictable as a meltdown on Twitter.

"Sure," she smiles warmly. "Takeout sounds good."

* * *

 _I really should get back on this. Especially since I've got another M-rated fic lined up after NH. However, you might not see me for a few days - going to see Civil War tomorrow :D_

 _special thanks to: **vrupd.1992, doomstone, ghost angel14, hornedgoddess, stefalove, oninoko, jpbake, rainbowcolorw0w, isawaliciaarrow** (hai!) **, heartonfire, deadbreath** and **invisible me** for the reviews!_


	79. seventy-nine

_chapter word count: 440_

* * *

 **noir heart: seventy-nine**

A trip down Third and Nostalgia via Chinese takeout, the presence of whiskey and a couple of his emergency beers later - every man should have a secret stash, fact - and Jack nestles in the ephemeral good cheer of inhibition-loosening tipsiness, while trying to ignore the ache in his heart.

He twists right on the sofa, and rests his temple on a loose fist while he faces her and asks, "Why are you here, Rapunzel?"

Bottle halfway to her lips, she freezes and watches him blankly. "What?"

"You could have told me over the phone, but instead you came all the way here. Thirty minutes ago, we just had takeout together like we used to. What gives?"

He watches the rise and fall of her chest as her breaths deepen a little, how some colour adorns her cheeks, and how she's breathing through parted lips. Throw in the dilated pupils…

"I...was…" she stammers as she tries to deflect by putting the bottle on the coffee table, but it's not out of fear. This is different. Jack shuffles closer, testing her. She doesn't flinch.

"Did you come for something...else?"

She doesn't answer immediately, but _does_ glance down at his lips and back up. "After what I told her…" she says breathlessly, "I guess...I just wanted to be sure…"

Jack shuffles closer, his heart thudding. "About?"

"How I felt…"

"About us?" Closer. She slowly nods, and a vein in her neck is pulsing. "And are you sure?"

"I don't...know," she whispers, moments before Jack surges forward and takes them back to happier times, where sunshine and humour reigned, simply by capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. She snakes her arms around his head, mouth moving in unison, moaning into his throat. He leans further into her, and she responds by pulling him down.

 _This is happening,_ he thinks. _She's coming back._

Touchdown. He positions himself on top, never leaving her lips. She knows where he's going with this; her hands stroke down to the base of his shirt. Maybe they'll do this fully clothed. Who cares, as long as she doesn't stop kissing him.

But, abruptly, she does. Her lips cease their heavenly caresses, she turns away and her hands shoot up to his shoulders to push him back. "Stop," she says. "I can't do this."

Bewildered, his mind blank but his heart a maelstrom of confusion, longing and hurt, he murmurs, "Do what?"

Bolting upright, she closes her eyes, resting a hand on her heart as she calms her breathing. "Let myself fall for you again."

* * *

 _Welp. :/ Sorry it's been so long, but I'm working on making a buffer in between writing OGaV. Just...so tired all the time. Civil War was excellent. Fell just short of Winter Soldier imo, but still well worth a ticket._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, whimsical acumen, jpbake, vrupd.1992, lunasnoir, ghost angel14, anastasia, hornedgoddess, oninoko, stefalove, invisible me, booyah** and **maravillakatana47** for the reviews!_


	80. eighty

_chapter word count: 620_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty**

"What do you mean?"

She sighs, more of a resigned exhalation of breath than anything else. "When you were chasing serial killers, you shut out everything else...and every _one…_ "

"Rapunzel-"

"...and you had this distinctive smell, like alcohol mixed with old sweat. Like you hadn't washed in days. Every case, same smell. Jack," she pauses, and looks at him. "It took me a while to notice, but you have that exact smell right now. You're on a case, aren't you?"

Her question is so abrupt, it deprives him of a response for a moment - and that's all Rapunzel needs. She looks away, smiling bitterly. "Thought so. How bad?"

Jack slumps back into the sofa, completely deflated. Whatever chance he had with her, he knows is slipping through his fingers. "Bad," he murmurs.

She utters a single chuckle. Rising from the sofa, she bends to pick up her bag. "When you told me you were better, I started to believe you. That's why I let myself kiss you back, because for a happy moment I thought it was all behind us - but now, it's happening again. I'm sorry, Jack. I can't let history repeat itself, or we'll both be hurt."

"Who says it'll repeat itself?" Jack says sharply, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye.

"It's who you are, Jack. Being a detective, fighting the darkness, fighting for justice...it'll always be who you are." she says. Her tone is soft, knowing, resigned, and the way she looks at him dances between pity and acceptance. She sighs. "Before we divorced, I was in a line for groceries behind this woman. She was talking to her...secretary, I think. She was vile. Demeaning. Belittled them, insulted them. The things she said...there was a box of pens by the clerk. I wanted to take one of them and stab it into her throat. Just like that. I wanted to plunge that pen into her throat, through her carotid artery. Watch her bleed to death, stop her treating her secretary like that. I knew _exactly_ where to put the pen so she'd bleed out slow enough for me to watch her die. Didn't even care about the cops. When she was served and left, and it was my turn, the clerk said ' _you okay? You look like you wanna kill someone" -_ then it hit me. All the stuff I saw in the work, in the darkness you brought home, was affecting me. I was _so_ scared. I shouldn't _know_ that. I shouldn't _fantasise_ that. It's not _me._ "

She looks away toward the door. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have come here, and raised your hopes. I just...I _wanted_ to...but as long as that darkness is still with you, I can't be."

He looks down, feeling his heart join his stomach on the floor. In his peripheral vision, Rapunzel makes her way out of his sight to the door. He hears the click of the handle being pulled...but no sound of it being closed behind her. There is, however, another question.

"The woman who came to see me," she asks tonelessly, "she isn't a reporter, is she?"

Without even looking, Jack answers, "No."

"She's dangerous, isn't she?" she asks. Jack doesn't answer.

She laughs, but it's bitter, hollow, mirthless. "We're divorced, we live apart, we have our own lives to live - but no matter where I go, I can't seem to escape your demons, can I?"

And with that, she sweeps out of his apartment and closes the door.

* * *

 _Elsa next. I think, next time, I'll skip writing Rapunzel._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, lunasnoir, ghost angel14, maravillakatana47, vrupd.1992, jpbake, stefalove, oninoko, himeagain, heartonfire**_ _and **deadbreath** for the reviews!_


	81. eighty-one

_chapter word count: 463_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-one**

Elsa ducks back around the corner of the apartment block, just out of sight of its main door as it swings open and clatters against its frame. Curious, she peers with one eye, and smiles to herself when the ex-wife Rapunzel strides into the world. Following her when she left her house has paid dividends, it seems, so with a knowing smirk she underlines the address on a notepad.

She looks up just as Rapunzel buries her head in her hand - there's no convulsing sobs, though, just a woman desperately trying to maintain self-control. Which means, Elsa notes with pride, that she was right. Jack _does_ live here. Only someone _that_ close to Rapunzel would cause her to be in such a state.

"Trouble in paradise," she says quietly. While her main goal was merely to find out where Jack lives, the state of distress Rapunzel is evidently in means something bad has happened between them. An unexpected bonus, and an opportunity.

There's a voice that pipes up from the ground to her right, between her and the steps leading into the apartment complex. A thick Cajun drawl, from a homeless woman she heretofore ignored . "Mm-hm. Dere was only one way dat was gonna go. Poor girl. Po' Jack. His heart mus' be breakin'."

Elsa's brows rise in interest at this woman, and her eyes flick up just in time to see Rapunzel hastily walk away from them and hail a cab. "You know of Jack?" she asks curiously.

"Why, 'course I do, cherie. Him and I been talkin' every night over a bottle-a whiskey."

Oh, now this is unexpected _and_ fruitful. Jack has a friend, unbiased by a previous relationship or criminal investigation. Perfect. "Will you tell me about him, Mrs...?" she asks in her best voice of light persuasion.

The woman looks through the top left corners of her eyes, and regards her distrustfully. "Not if you gonna hurt mon ami Jack. He's been through 'nough. An' it's Mrs. Lafayette ta you."

Elsa steps out from the corner, smiling innocently. She holds up her left hand, and makes a X on her chest with the other. "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Mrs Lafayette eyes her for a few more seconds, ostensibly deliberating her options, not entirely trustful of Elsa's intentions - which is a little irritating. Especially since she has _no_ desire to hurt Jack, and is mildly insulted this woman thinks she would.

Eventually, though, Mrs. Lafayette makes her decision. "Come see, mademoiselle," she says, patting the patch of cardboard by her side. "Not my place to tell you 'bout his life, but I can tell you 'bout what kinda man he is."

Elsa's smile widens.

* * *

 _early update. very discomforted. such self-questioning. wow. want to move on from this as quickly as possible. hope I'm not screwing up the Cajun accent like everything else._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, oninoko, anastasia, ghost angel14, guest, weird reader, riverfall, maravillakatana47, vrupd.1992, xxxevil cookiexxx, hornedgoddess** and **noircorda** for the reviews. _


	82. eighty-two

_chapter word count: 410_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-two**

Bottles of whiskey in a paper bag under his arm, Jack's eyes remain solely on the sidewalk as he strides back home. Downing a bottle wasn't going to be an option tonight, but after Rapunzel's visit...his heavy steps only reinforce his separation from the world. It passes him by. Oblivious. Apathetic. Just like the bullet in his father's revolver.

His steps slow as he approaches the bundle of clothes huddled against the steps, and though he _really_ doesn't feel like it, he faintly smiles nonetheless. "Hey, Beatrice."

She looks up, and her eyes brighten along with a toothy smile. "Aw, hey there Jack. Ça va?"

Jack's eyes fall momentarily, and his smile falters. "Could be better."

Beatrice's expression morphs to that of sympathy, and she huddles her blanket closer around her. As Jack bends to place the second bottle on the ground to her left, she says abruptly enough to make him pause, "Somethin' to do with your ex-wife?"

Jack chuckles once - he should've known better than to think his southern belle would have missed it. "Saw that, did you?" She's almost as observant as he is - or is supposed to be.

"Mm-hm. Seems like der was trouble in paradise, cher. You don't look happy."

Jack straightens up, and looks off toward the closed entrance doors. "I guess I'm not," he sighs, and pulls the other bottle out from under his arm.

"Not surprised," Beatrice says sagely, "but...you know, I always thought the two of ya were never right for each other. She mighta loved ya, but she was too gentle. She never gave you dat kick up the derriere you needed back then. Now, dis other woman. I like her. She got fire."

Jack frowns. "What other woman?"

Beatrice's hand pokes out of the blanket to grasp the bottle, and pulls it close to her. Unhurriedly, she unscrews the cap whilst saying in a voice of nonchalance thoroughly unbecoming of her, something that arouses a strong prickle of discomfort in Jack's spine, "Blonde hair in one of dem braids. Blue eyes. Pretty little thing. Clever, too."

Jack's hand tightens around the bottle hard enough for it to shudder in his hands, and the muscle in his jaw tenses. Elsa Black.

It gets worse when Beatrice, completely oblivious, says, "Matter o' fact, you jus' missed her. She went upstairs fifteen minutes ago."

* * *

 _jpbake: it's not to do with naysayers. It's more to do with the fact that a very close friend of mine, who reads my stories was incredibly distressed by the reaction to the last few chapters due to a personal experience. Therefore, I feel guilty and that I have messed up because I'm the one that elicited those reactions. I take responsibility for that._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, maravillakatana47, vrupd.1992, hornedgoddess, heartonfire, blarg, stefalove, ghost angel14, jpbake, oninoko, lunasnoir** and **deadbreath** for the reviews._


	83. eighty-three

_chapter word count: 477_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-three**

Glock in hand, wrists crossed with the whiskey in the other - Jack barges through his ajar apartment door with a bang and levels his firearm at the only occupant in the living room. Elsa Black, sat boldly in the corner of his sofa with her fingers entwined over crossed knees, regarding him with a wry, closed-lipped smirk.

"Do you brandish your weapon at every woman in your apartment?" she asks in a playful tone, "or do only I get the honour?"

Jack relaxes, but eyes her warily and irritably. Sliding his Glock back into the holster, he puts the whiskey on the nearby kitchen counter, all the while not taking his eyes off her. "Only the ones that commit breaking-and-entering. Felony charge. I could legally arrest you right now."

"Then it's fortunate the superintendent was kind enough to open the door for me," she says, then her eyes flick down to his belt, "though the idea of handcuffs _is_ appealing."

Inside his head a multitude of curses rage, along with a mental note to chew Sandy out. Sliding out of his jacket, he tosses it onto the other end of the sofa whilst opening his mouth to tell her to get out - but then he sees what's on the table in front of her.

His father's revolver. The one he pulled out and spun shortly after Rapunzel left, just before he decided he needed booze first. It's _loaded._ His right hand automatically and slowly moves to rest on his Glock, watching both her and the revolver carefully.

Her eyes glance down to his hand and back up. "You needn't worry. I'm not going to shoot you."

"How do I know that?"

Effortlessly and fluidly, Elsa uncrosses her legs, leans over to pick up the revolver and points it at the external windowed wall, when an almighty crack fills the air. Drawing and levelling the Glock upon her, the smell of cordite infiltrates his nose while the revolver's barrel exhales wisps of smoke, and with adrenaline racing through his body via his thundering heart, he aims the pistol squarely at her chest.

And still, she half-smiles with amusement like it's just another Tuesday. "I'm only an _alleged_ killer, remember? Besides," she says, and as she rises to her feet there's a thud as she drops the revolver, "I just saved your life."

Jack narrows his eyes. "How'd you figure that?"

"One bullet, five empty chambers." she says, and with swaying hips approaches him. "Russian Roulette. Tonight's suicide attempt - if that is what it is - would have been successful. Had I not been here, you would be dead, and I…" she stops just three feet from him, Glock pressed against her chest, staring up into his eyes, and murmurs, "...I would be inconsolable."

* * *

 _elsaaaaaa. missed writing this. Trivia - the first chapter of OGaV Act II: "Hour of the Wolf" is halfway done._

 _special thanks to: **anastasia, ghost angel14, invisible me, doomstone, vrupd.1992, jpbake, maravillakatana47** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews!_


	84. eighty-four

_chapter word count: 744_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-four**

"Stop it," Jack growls.

Elsa tilts her head. "Stop what?"

"This," Jack says, staring unblinkingly into her eyes, "Whatever ' _this'_ is."

Her lipped smile widens slightly. The pressure against his Glock increases. "What do you mean?"

Jack's eyes darken. Whatever adrenaline coursed through his body has by this point receded, leaving him at the mercy of the maelstrom of emotions coursing through his heart. Thanks to Rapunzel's visit, he's off-balance and vulnerable. So, even though he tries to give off the unflappable, unbreakable facade...inside he's acutely aware that Elsa has appeared at the _worst_ time ever.

"Pretending you care. Pretending you can feel."

She pouts, and momentarily looks stung. Probably faking it. "I _can_ feel…"

"Not empathy."

"Not sentiment," she says immediately. Her smile drops, and there's a flash in her eyes that tells Jack she's either sincere, or antagonised. "I don't see the attraction in chasing the ghost of a lost love."

Whether he wants it or not, he flinches - and the curling of Elsa's lips is a neon sign that she got what she wanted. The Glock lowers slightly, and his hostile expression falters. "Why are you here?" he asks quietly, watching her with wary eyes.

"I asked you who left who first, and you never answered. So I visited Rapunzel, and though I found out that it was she who left you, I was not satisfied with why. So, I came to ask _you._ Why did she give up on you?"

The hostility returns. "None of your business," he snaps defensively.

"Did she no longer love you?" she asks, circling around him.

"Fuck off."

"Did she cheat on you?" Her voice is behind him now, and though he wants to, the simmering mess of emotions inside root him to the spot.

"No."

She asks, louder. "Did you cheat on _her?"_

"No!" His frustration builds. He's going to explode.

"Did you grow tired of her?" She persists, louder. Her voice comes from practically on top of his right shoulder.

"No! No!"

"Did you abuse her?"

What blurts out of Jack's mouth is formed way before he even knows it, though there's a strange sense of liberty in amongst the crippling shame.

"Yes!" he snaps.

His heart, his mind, is a raging storm. He whirls around, face twisted with pain and frustration, and no matter what he wants, the words keep coming. "What you, Beatrice, _none_ of you seem to get is that she left 'cause I was killing her, alright? Every day I was slowly killing her. The job took everything from me," he yells, waving both free and gun-hand wildly, "and when I had nothing left, it took from her too! I couldn't stop, so while I didn't use my fists, I sure as hell abused her heart and her mind! I took and I took and I took. I wouldn't let her help me, so she did the only thing she could and that was to save herself from _me._ She left to save her _soul,_ and I'm glad she did, 'cause I'm _toxic!"_

Silence falls between them. Jack's breaths are heavy and nasal. He stares in anger at Elsa, who is almost completely unmoved. No fear. No smug victory. No frown of judgement. Not once in his tirade did she even _blink._ "Interesting…" she murmurs.

Seething, Jack snarls, "There, you happy? She left 'cause she knew when to call it quits. You got what you wanted."

She curls an infuriatingly pleased smile. Jack glances up just as the Super, a short, golden-blonde man appears in the doorway with a cellphone in his hand. He signs rapidly with the other. " _I heard a gunshot. Called nine-one-one, is everything okay?"_

"Everything's just dandy, Sandy. Tell them it's a false alarm. She was just leaving," Jack says firmly, glaring daggers at Elsa - who, even more infuriatingly, isn't affected in the least.

Sandy glances nervously between them, before nodding and disappearing out of sight. Elsa, hopefully satisfied, utters a quiet _hm_ as she turns away from him and sways toward the door.

Yet, just as she rests her hand on the handle, she turns and utters something that does little to alleviate his tempestuous emotional state before she leaves. In fact, it only adds to it - bewilderment and confusion.

" _I_ would never give up on you, Jack."

* * *

 _slowly losing my mind here. Okay, two things. Firstly, I'm writing another one shot, but it's not Jelsa. Rather, it's an Avengers one shot, taking place between two scenes in Civil War, involving Wanda and Hawkeye. No shipping._

 _Secondly, I feel I need to point out something: I am not trying to bash Rapunzel in any way, it is not my intention at all. I love her character, and I dislike it when people portray her as a massive bitch to justify a Jelsa pairing. So I don't get why it's coming across that way, and I can only assume I must be doing something wrong. In any case, in the story so far, the **only**_ _person to bear **any** negativity to Rapunzel is Elsa, because of backstory and character exposition that I have yet to go into. She has her own agenda and her own goal. I am hoping - **praying -** that the above update clarifies things, 'cause I don't know how to make it any clearer without the next update being a complete plot explanation. _

_special thanks to everyone that reviewed, particularly Guest who boosted me with a lot of confidence in this rather confusing time. With FFN being weird, I can't actually_ **see** _them, including Failwhale's. I'm going to lay down in a dark room with a bottle of vodka and a tennis ball._


	85. eighty-five

_chapter word count: 575_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-five**

Messy-haired and bleary-eyed, Jack pushes open the doors to the unit room, stifling probably the world's most cavernous yawn. Much to the disdainful frowns of everyone present, of course, but that's nothing new.

The night before had been nothing short of something he'd like to have forgotten with an entire bottle of whiskey - but Elsa's surprise visit-slash-break-and-enter had left him oddly unwilling to even _touch_ the stuff. The very idea of a glass of the amber liquid turned him off. So, much to Beatrice's pleasant surprise she found herself the proud owner of a second bottle.

So, messy-haired, bleary-eyed, and suffering the effects of withdrawal, too. It's shaping up to be a _fantastic_ day - but there's only one thing on his mind that might turn that particular statement from sarcastic to mildly appropriate.

Passing between the desks, choosing to let the sounds of detective office life blur into an indiscernible mess, Jack swallows through a swollen throat and makes a beeline for the coffee machine against the wall to the right of his desk, under a poster reminding everyone of the importance in reading a suspect their Miranda rights.

It's when he's about six feet away that a smartly-suited Aster catches up with him, having looked up from the work on his desk. "Hey mate...jeez, you look like hell," he says, wincing.

"Really?" Jack croaks, eyes on the maker of liquid glory, "I hadn't noticed."

"Seriously. What the hell were you doing last night?" Aster gapes.

Does he need to know the details? How Rapunzel basically told him in no uncertain terms that they weren't getting back together, and how Elsa put a nice new bullet-hole in his wall. How the knowledge that she easily got under his skin and pulled out his emotions is both scaring him and fascinating him, considering only one other person was able to do that. How she straight-up told him, despite knowing him for less than a day, that she'd never give up on him. _That_ part confuses the hell out of him.

So he skips to the footnotes, of everything that happened after Elsa left. "I was struck with the urge to rearrange the furniture in my apartment," he says, and there's an element of truth. Elsa essentially invaded his privacy - _again -_ so to maintain some sort of control and to remind him that the apartment was still his safe space, he made it look completely different and therefore _his._

He reaches the coffee machine, mouth salivating at the prospect of heavenly caffeinated liquid fit only to strip paint, lubricate engines and interrogate terrorists - and his heart sinks to the floor. It's clearly hot...but also _empty._

Snickering from behind him attracts his ears. Turning just enough, his eyes rest upon Aster, who's holding a mug of coffee under his smirking lips. A mug that's steaming, and _fresh._ Didn't even have the courtesy to refill the jug.

Asshole.

Jack scowls, and suppresses _with great difficulty_ the urge to punch him in the face. "There's a special place in hell for people like you."

"Oh, really?" Aster chuckles evilly, and takes a drawn-out sip of his coffee.

"Yeah. It's got politicians, social justice warriors, and people who think _Fifty Shades of Grey_ is a well-written book."

* * *

 _"e.l james is a great author" - no-one, ever. Oh - was trying to remember how to throw a boomerang once. It came back to me, eventually._

 _special thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'd name you all, but FFN is still being stupid._


	86. eighty-six

_chapter word count: 548_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-six**

As it turns out, Captain Moors had designated the empty office to the right of hers specifically for Jack and Aster's investigation. As he walks in front of Aster into the well-lit space, he notices its windows to the right of the door are blocked by two large whiteboards on which dozens of crime scene photographs and identity pictures are taped. It's a timeline, with the D.M.V pictures of the first two victims on the top left, and the newest victims Aurora and Philip on the top right, and everything related to each pair of victims descending from those pictures.

It's a little ordered for his tastes, but he's nonetheless appreciative - or is that appreciation for the third cup of coffee he's on? Who knows.

There's a rickety wooden clatter as Aster closes the door behind him and closes the blinds, though Jack barely notices as his mind is already ticking. Stepping back to lean his butt on the table behind him, he sips from his coffee. "I've missed this," Aster says nostalgically.

Jack scoffs. "No, you haven't."

Chuckling, Aster places the mug on the table and loosens his emerald tie. "Suppose not. I mean, times _were_ simpler without you pretending to hear struggling so you could bust down a door without a warrant."

Jack curls a half-smirk, before returning to the topic at hand and gesturing to the board. "Yeah, well - I wanna get on with this so I can retire. What do we know about the victims?"

"I thought you read all this?" Aster frowns.

Rolling his eyes, Jack sighs, "Shut up and answer the question."

"Alright, alright." Aster holds up his hands, and then reels off a list, "Six victims - two Caucasian, two African-American, one Asian-American and one Hispanic, in a range of careers and social statuses. All found in dumpsters, stripped of their clothes and accessories. No IDs found at the scene."

"So the unsub's not bothered about race or class," Jack says.

"Nope," Aster snarks, "Equal-opportunity killer."

Jack grunts, and takes a sip of his coffee. "Don't tell Tumblr."

Chuckling again, Aster continues, "I promise I'll keep mum. Anyway, what's your take on it? Victimology's random."

"Except it isn't." Jack says, twisting round to place his mug behind him so he can push off the table and have his hands free, "Serial killers have a reason behind everything they do. It's what drives them. This unsub's no different…"

Jack pulls his right arm across his chest and rests his left elbow on it, so his fingers can cup his chin. He utters a quiet _hunh,_ which apparently is all Aster needs. "I know that sound," his partner drawls. "You've got a vibe, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Jack murmurs, "it's just something that got me thinking last night. What if the victimology looks random, because these people aren't victims?"

The slightly sarcastic incredulity drips from every word that Aster next speaks, "...but they are?"

"To us, yeah - but not to the unsub. I think they're just casualties. I think _love_ is the victim to this guy, and he's trying to kill it over and over again _."_

* * *

 _shot through the heart, and you're to blame..._

 _special thanks to: **failwhale, littlemiss-rozaann, ghost angel14, jpbake, doomstone, hornedgoddess, oninoko, vrupd.1992, deadbreath, guest, heartonfire, lunasnoir, stefalove** and **kira** for the reviews!_


	87. eighty-seven

_chapter word count: 601_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-seven**

A brief silence falls over the small office, abrupt and noticeable enough for Jack to twist around and peer over his shoulder at his partner, who's busy pulling his cellphone from his pocket. "What're you doing?"

"Calling a psychiatrist," Aster answers, nonchalantly perusing his screen, "...'cause you've got kangaroos loose in the top paddock, mate."

Rolling his eyes, Jack returns to the pictures. "...I'm not nuts."

"You sure?" Aster says, tossing his phone onto the table, "I mean, you did just say the unsub's trying to kill a _concept_."

Holding up his index finger, Jack points out, "No, I _think_ he is. Look at the victims - murdered in pairs, right? So, just for a moment, pretend they're couples. That's two heterosexual and one lesbian couple," he says, tapping each pair of pictures with his hand, "all found with matching halves of a love heart carved onto their chest. That's why I think this guy's trying to kill love."

Aster rises with a creak from his chair, and there's a slight prickle of personal space invasion as he stands beside him. "Who said it's a guy? Could be a chick."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look at the distribution of attacks," Aster pauses to point at each photograph the M.E. took of the bodies, each one alabaster white and empty, "the males are stabbed something like nine times, but the females get one clean strike to the heart. Overkill on the men, but quick and surgical on the women. No-one other than a woman's gonna have that much rage against a bloke, _especially_ if we're following this crusade-against-love thing."

Shaking his head, Jack says, "Doesn't fit the murder weapon. Women kill differently to men. They're quiet, stealthy, statistically more likely to use poisons or overdoses. This unsub uses a knife, which is a symbol of penetration. It's messy, painful, sadistic. Women don't fuck about - if they want you dead, you're dead. None of this stabby-stabby-carvey-carvey bullshit."

Jack, subconsciously wanting his personal space back and consciously wanting to _really_ understand the unsub, stands closer to the boards, folds one arm across his chest and rests his chin in the other hand - classic vibe pose, apparently. "For this guy, it's all about the statement. By stripping the victims, stealing their IDs and leaving them in dumpsters, he's trying to say love kills you. It makes you vulnerable, takes away your sense of identity and leaves you as nothing but trash." he says - but there's an almost passionate edge to his voice that, a few seconds after the last word escapes his lips, he realises all too late is a dead giveaway.

The prickle of a pseudo-proximity alert courses through his chest, and he glances to the right to find Aster has once again pulled up beside him, regarding him suspiciously-slash-concernedly. "...you sound like you're talking from experience, mate."

There's a pang of pain in his chest, wrapped up in self-loathing and tied up in a neat little bow of hurt anger. Maybe he is. Maybe he's understanding this guy better than he thinks. Therefore, a change of subject - and scenery - is needed, as the less Aster can figure out, the better. "C'mon," Jack says, quickly moving to the table to take a sip of his coffee before placing it back down, "we can look at pictures all day, but it's all academic. I need to see Hiccup."

* * *

 _what is love? baby don't hurt me...also, guess what's coming in three days?_

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, lunasnoir, stefalove, hornedgoddess, jpbake, vrupd.1992, invisible me, trapid** (yay! Haven't seen you in ages!) and **oninoko** for the reviews!_


	88. eighty-eight

_chapter word count: 596_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-eight**

"Guys, all my findings are in my report," Hiccup says in his characteristic slightly-nasal drawl, scrutinizing his clipboard carefully as he scribbles down notes from the latest stiff brought in. Gang member, judging by the specific tattoos all over his body. Gunshot wound to the head, execution style. "You didn't need to waste your time."

"Humour me," Jack says as he casually looks over the morgue. So clinically clean you could eat a three-course meal next to a homicide victim, and not catch a thing...if you were so morbidly inclined. Judging by the lack of rumours, Hiccup has never done such a thing - but there's a few signs that he's been up to something intimate before Jack and Aster walked in. Flushed cheeks and necks tend to standout against steel and white lab coats. He would chuckle dirtily, but the dull ache in his right shoulder is distracting the hell out of him, so he firmly applies the heel of his left hand into the joint and rolls his shoulder.

It's something that, with a curious glance over his spectacles, Hiccup notices. "Something wrong?"

"Nah," Jack says dismissively, but instantly stops the rolling and shoves his hands in his pockets, "Officer Hofferson just reminded me of how much she doesn't like me with a nice little shoulder bump in the corridor outside."

Hiccup grunts, then clips the pencil to the board and places it neatly on the stiff's chest so he can fold his arms and give Jack an emotionless look. "Yeah, well, you're pretty much persona non grata in the precinct, acting without having all the facts and all. Especially with what you did to Arnulf."

Jack stiffens, and fixes Hiccup with a stony glare. Fists clenched in his pockets to such an extent the nails dig into his palms, he growls, "That's funny, coming from the guy who's been having sex with Officer Hofferson, against the rules, and in his office."

Stupefied, Hiccup's eyes widen, and his mouth goes slack. Aster's head whips between them in complete surprise. "How the bloody hell d'you know that?"

Without taking his cold glare off the tomato masquerading as a medical examiner, Jack reels off the list of observations he took as soon as he walked in. "One - Officer Hofferson's a stickler for getting her uniform just right, and the top two buttons of her shirt were undone. Two - there's a hickey just above your collar, you were flushed red as soon as we walked in, and I can still smell her perfume in the air. Three - there's a nice little handprint on the window of your office."

Jack steps forward, and leans toward him just enough to prove a point. "But all of that's redundant - because you _really_ should have found a better place to hide her bra."

Lips half-curled in a crooked smirk, Jack's eyes flick just once to the drawer of the desk in Hiccup's office behind him, where a black and red strap dangles from the uppermost one. Astrid has taste - that's a Victoria's Secret.

Hiccup ducks his head and scratches the nape of his neck with one hand whilst resting the other on his hip, and nervously clears his throat. Casting a victorious look at Aster, Jack has to suppress a chuckle at how he's looking at everything _but_ Hiccup with an awkward grimace.

"So," Hiccup says with an oddly cracked yet high-pitched voice, "Aurora Mills, right?"

* * *

 _this love has taken it's toll on me, she said goodbye too many times before...stabby-stabby-carvey-carvey..._

 _One more day!_

 _special thanks to: **maravillakatana47, hornedgoddess, anastasia, doomstone, ghost angel14, vrupd.1992, oninoko** and **stefalove** for the reviews!_


	89. eighty-nine

_chapter word count: 518_

* * *

 **noir heart: eighty-nine**

Some say that the human body is naught but a shell, a construct made to house the immutable spirit and the radiant soul, the essence of who a person is. They say that when the time comes to take the next journey beyond the veil, that the person's consciousness and soul travels on while the body is left behind. Its goal achieved, the body remains an empty, hollow shell.

Somewhere in the cusp of his hearing, Hiccup says, " _C.O.D. was massive trauma to the heart, courtesy of a knife through the fourth and fifth rib. Death occurred within seconds."_

As he gazes over her lifeless form, Jack wonders if maybe there's some truth to it. Aurora must have been beautiful, once. A radiant soul that illuminated the world around her.

Maybe she wasn't, maybe she was a haughty, narcissistic wraith that sucked away the good and replaced it with chaos.

" _I also found a taser burn to her chest, and ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. No signs of defense."_

Whatever she was, which only Captain Moors and her parents will tell him when the time comes, she's none of those things now. Just an empty shell on a steel table surrounded by two detectives and a medical examiner, with nothing but a pure white blanket covering her modesty. Whoever this person is, they took _everything_ from her, leaving behind a woman with alabaster skin, wet, slicked back hair, empty eyes and a silent heart.

" _Jack, are you listening?"_

One life is all a person has, one life - and hers was stolen.

"Jack?"

Blinking, Jack looks up and stares blankly at Hiccup, who regards him with a cocked eyebrow and a mildly-suspicious expression. "What?"

The brunette rolls his eyes. "You were away with the fairies."

Jack looks at Aster, who quirks his lips and nods. "Sorry," he sighs, "long night. Massive trauma to the heart, taser burn, ligature marks, no defense. What else?"

Hiccup groans under his breath. "I was going to say - the tox-screen came back with something interesting, just like the other victims. High levels of scopolamine."

When he read through the report at home, Jack did wonder why the hell all six victims were found with seasickness medication in their systems, and he'd hoped visiting the morgue and would grant him inspiration, but apparently not. Scopolamine is obviously important to the unsub...but why?

"There is something different, though. All the other victims had signs of sexual intercourse - fluids, stuff like that. I checked if it was rape, but there was no bruising or trauma associated with it. Far as I can tell, when they had sex, it was consensual."

Jack looks at Hiccup through the corner of his eye. "I sense a 'but' coming."

Hiccup, his eyes taking on a thoughtful look as he folds his arms and gazes at her body, delivers the most curious thing of all. "But Aurora's different - she's the only one with a broken hymen."

Eyes returning to the lifeless woman, Jack breathes, "Aurora was a virgin."

* * *

 _another reminder that things'll be pretty dark. And adult. **Jpbake:** Elsa tried to make it look like someone else did it._

 _special thanks to: **katara0301, vrupd.1992, jpbake, doomstone, oninoko, deadbreath, anastasia** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews._


	90. ninety

_chapter word count: 458_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety**

The information from the examination still heavy in his mind, and having promised his discretion regarding the romantic dalliances in the workplace - though he'd be lying if he said Hiccup wasn't lucky, Astrid is one hell of a woman - Jack pushes open the door to their investigation room ready to bounce a few ideas around.

Except there's another occupant in the room, perusing the whiteboards with a little too close interest.

"Cap," he frowns, freezing in step so abruptly that, uttering a surprised curse, Aster nearly walks into him.

Captain Moors' eyes snap over to his, and she steps back from the boards, clearing her throat. "Detectives," she greets them tonelessly.

Still holding onto the door, Jack moves aside so Aster can pass, yet keeps his gaze firmly locked upon his superior. "You shouldn't be here, Cap," he points out.

"Conflict of interest." Aster adds, pulling out a chair and flopping down with his left arm on the table. "You could shoot this case down before it even starts."

"I am aware of correct procedure, Detectives Frost and Bunnymund. I am merely here to update you on something," she says, turning with Jack as he circles the table and parks himself in the chair opposite Aster.

"What's that?" the Australian asks, leaning forward slightly.

"Your killer has been given a name."

Jack groans, and dramatically flops back on his chair like he's been told single people need relationships to be successful, and loudly at that. "Oh God…"

Aster chuckles to himself, and in amongst his frustration he can hear the disdain in the good Captain's voice. "It was coined by our favourite reporter Gothel."

This time, Jack rather theatrically-slash-immaturely folds his arms on the table and buries his head in them. "I don't want to live on this planet anymore…" he whines.

"Do I wanna know?" Aster asks. Bastard - he's only doing that to watch Jack squirm, and he knows it.

Captain Moors takes a deep breath. It's probably going to hurt her as much as it does Jack.

"Your killer has now been called Cupid."

Jack's shoulders jerk as he lets loose a series of overly-dramatic, exasperated whimpers into his arms - like he's crying.

"Mate, what's with you?"

Looking up, Jack fixes his partner with an incredulous stare, as though Aster is full of the same stupidity as Gothel. "King of Hearts. Queen of Hearts. Breaker of Hearts. Heartbreaker. Eros. Venus. The fucking Love Killer. All of those names, and Gothel decides to name him after a fucking winged baby in a diaper that shoots arrows at people's butts. I wouldn't be surprised if he kills her on _principle_."

* * *

 _thought a little humour was in order, even if it's dark humour. I also couldn't resist a bit of snark at a certain Frozen 2 movement on Twitter. **doomstone:** The term "unsub" is short for "unknown subject". In Criminal Minds, the profiling team uses it in lieu of the perp's name._

 _special thanks to: **vrupd.1992, hornedgoddess, oninoko, jpbake, doomstone** and **heartonfire** for the reviews._


	91. ninety-one

_chapter word count: 552_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-one**

Tossing a scrunched up piece of paper in the air, slumped into his chair with his feet on the table, Jack asks tiredly, "Okay, so, what do we know so far - this guy - not saying his name - hits once a month, right?"

There's the sound of leafing through paper as Aster peruses his notebook, uttering a rather long _hmmm_ as he does so. "Right. Once a month, he abducts two people on a Friday, where he seems to keep them for the weekend, and disposes of them early Monday morning. Naked, no IDs. Why won't you say his name?" he says, takes his coffee and leans back into his chair for a relaxed sip.

Pulling his feet down, Jack straightens up in the chair and rests his elbows on the table, tossing the paper ball between his hands. "Overkill on the male, but efficiency on the female. You know - there's something bugging me about that."

Mid-sip, Aster raises his brow and gestures with his hand for him to continue.

"Remember what Hiccup said about the male stab wounds, how some of them are hesitation-strikes? Why is he being so nervous about the guys, but cold and efficient with the girls? Doesn't make sense - and I keep telling people; Zodiac. BTK-"

"Jack the Ripper," Aster points out, smirking.

Glaring healthily, Jack continues, "You give a killer a name, you give them fame. Popularity's the _last_ thing you want to give a serial killer."

"Maybe most of his rage is with the chick, and he doesn't really wanna kill 'em." Aster offers.

"But why go through all the trouble of abducting both people, if you're gonna get nervous at the last second? No, this guy - there's a reason for it. Just like there's a reason for the scopolamine. Just need to figure it out." Jack says, holding the ball in both hands while his arms form a wide A, fingertips meeting under his nose as he looks off in thought.

Unfortunately, the silence that follows due to Aster not having anything to offer means that the lack of sleep the night before catches up with Jack, ignoring the equivalent barrel-ful of coffee he consumed prior to that point. Bouncing ideas around and listening to lengthy medical examinations has been, while illuminating, mentally exhausting - so even if he wants to, the cavernous yawn is impossible to stifle.

"Mate - go home. I'll cover for you," Aster says, smiling crookedly before having to stifle one of his own, "You're no good half-asleep. Get some rest - I'll let you know if anything comes up."

Much as he'd like to argue, Jack doesn't want to. Sleep sounds _fantastic._ Murmuring his gratitude, he rises from his chair and makes toward the door. "Besides," Aster shrugs, and steals another sip to avoid another yawn, "I can try and figure out if this joker is the kind that takes trophies or not."

Trophies. The word hits him like a truck, even while half asleep. Of course! A ring on a chain, in a paper bag.

As he leaves the room, the next yawn that graces his face has to do battle with a devious smirk - because now he knows how to beat Elsa Black.

* * *

 _I just want to mention - Cupid was the killer's name from the story's inception. I'm poking fun at myself :P Elsa next (hopefully)._

 _special thanks to: **lunasnoir, doomstone, vrupd.1992, oninoko, hornedgoddess** and **invisible me** for the reviews!_


	92. ninety-two

_chapter word count: 651_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-two**

" _You didn't have to move out, you know,"_ Anna whines in audible disappointment from the speakers of Elsa's phone, as it rests on the brand-new counter of her brand-new apartment, " _We still had the converted attic…"_

Closely scrutinising a wooden knife block filled with matt-steel knives of varying sizes, Elsa smiles lightly as she turns it just an inch to the left. "My dear Anna," she says, "you have less than a month left until the baby arrives." She turns it a half-inch to the right. "Having a third adult in your home would only complicate matters."

" _But-"_

"Besides," she pauses to pull out the largest knife and admire the blade's impeccable shine, elegantly curved handle and razor-sharpness, turning it over and over in her hands, "A single woman like me needs her own space."

" _I know, I know."_ Anna sighs. As much as Elsa is faintly amused by her little sister's persistence, it does become...trying...at times. " _It's just - you only just came back into my life, I don't wanna lose you again."_

"You won't be getting rid of me that easily," Elsa says as she slides the knife back with a wooden scrape, smiling crookedly.

" _Good! 'Cause, you know, between that rat-bastard, and Mama and Papa locking you away - I still don't know why they did that."_

Her smile falls, and an all-too-familiar flicker of resentment sneaks its way into her heart. ' _There's something wrong with our daughter,"_ her father had said, overheard by Elsa from the stairs, ' _She's not normal.'_

What is 'normal', but a self-written perception of the world around us, Elsa thinks. One person's normality is another person's heresy. In an attempt at distraction, she picks up the phone and strides with it into the living room, depositing it on the clear plastic sheet still wrapping her new sofa whilst she crouches and delves into the nearby box labelled _Miscellaneous._

With a pleased _hum,_ she retrieves a small notepad and pen, and whilst writing the name _Mr St. North,_ she says, "It doesn't matter now, Anna. I grieved Papa's love. I moved past it. I am my own person - I am me," she trails off, her eyes falling upon a heavily creased paper bag. With a swell of pride, pleasure and victorious glee, she closes the notepad and slides a dainty hand into the bag to pull out the physical reminder of her freedom - her ring, with the chain wrapped around her fingers. Gazing fondly, she tilts her head to the right and smiles widely. "No matter what anyone says."

" _True that. So, what do you plan to do with your newfound freedom?"_ Anna asks, attempting a light tone that comes off slightly lame.

Elsa considers the question for a moment. Several things float through her mind; her ongoing investigation, getting a job, organising and decorating her apartment - a nice light blue in the living room, perhaps. "I think I'll take each day as it comes," she says, electing for the most cryptic answer as she slides the jewellery back into the bag.

However any further thoughts to that end are jarred and cast aside, when a piercing, ache-inducing sound rips through the apartment, forcing her to duck slightly and wince from the surprise pain in her ears. Glancing up at the smoke alarm between the hallway and the living room light, she utters a few choice curses in her mind at whoever was inconsiderate enough to set off the fire alarm.

" _What's that?!"_ Anna yells, barely audible over the deafening noise.

Rising to her feet, she bends down to pick her cell phone up from the sofa and yells, "It's nothing, Anna! Just a fire drill!" as she strides toward the door. "I'll call you later!"

* * *

 _Jack next. Hopefully this wasn't as boring as it comes across to me. If it is, then there's only a day to wait :P_

 _special thanks to: **lunasnoir, vrupd.1992, oninoko, mume** and **jpbake** for the reviews - and I would suggest a read of **Codependency,** 'tis good. _


	93. ninety-three

_chapter word count: 657_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-three**

Technically, calling in a favour from Fishlegs to find Elsa Black is abuse of police resources, much like flashing his badge at the complex's concierge for the key - though the wiry man did swear his silence.

Then again, setting off the fire alarm isn't exactly playing by the rules, but as Jack waits around the corner of the T-shaped, white-wallpapered hallway, inspecting his nails with as much indifference as towards the piercing din, he notes how barren his field of fucks is, and thus he has none to give. North always said his career walked just on the right side of dismissal.

He peers around the corner just in time to see Elsa, clad in a rather attractive combo of black leggings and the very same ice-blue hooded sweater he first saw her in, close the door behind her and head to the stairs on the opposite end of the hallway, deep frustration evident in the cadence of her rapid footfalls.

Wasting little time, as he jogs over to her door his fingers dive into the pocket of his beige trench coat to retrieve the key, and with a quick glance over either shoulder, he lets himself in.

Scanning a searching eye around her apartment living room, he notes she's been a busy little bee since her appearance in his place a few days ago. But as expected, her apartment is sparse. Practically everything is brand new, with a pile of boxes in the far corner - fruits of her inheritance, undoubtedly - and some things haven't even been unwrapped. Which means that she hasn't yet found a pride of place for her trophy - so it _might_ still be in a box.

Remembering she was left with almost nothing from the will, her possessions are probably limited to one box and, considering the rest have brand names, he reckons there's only one place it'll be if she isn't personally holding it - the box labeled _Miscellaneous._

Shutting the door behind him, he strides over and kneels by the box - and apparently she'd been admiring her victory when the fire alarm went off, judging by the presence of the paper bag on top of the rest of the contents, and the dangling of a silver chain from its opening. Smirking crookedly, he pinches the chain and lifts it out to rest the ring in his right hand. It was never shown in any published photographs of Kozmotis Black, but it was nonetheless on his body - and though it's not enough to convict or even charge her...it's enough to punish her.

And that's pretty much what he wants.

The piercing noise abruptly cuts off. Jack's head shoots up - Elsa's going to be back soon. Fisting the ring and chain, he quickly rises to his feet and darts out of the apartment, heart racing with adrenaline. Taking a sharp right towards where he hid before, he hammers the up button on the elevator whilst muttering a low ' _come on, come on…'_ \- it's not that he doesn't want Elsa to see him, but it has to be the right time.

Footsteps echo in the hallway behind him. His heart thunders faster. Any second now, he'll hear " _Detective Frost"_ , and that's going to ruin the surprise.

He practically groans in relief when the doors _finally_ open, and he slips between them just in time to see Elsa round the corner, her head bowed low as she inspects her phone, wearing a mask of concentration.

"Elsa," he calls out, just as he hits the button for the roof.

She looks up, and at first gives him that very same distracting smile from Anna's kitchen...but when he extends his right hand out, and her eyes flick down to the chain dangling from his fist?

The doors close on her expression becoming downright _murderous._

* * *

 _uh-oh. Way to antagonise her AGAIN, Jack. Thanks all for setting my mind at rest._

 _special thanks to: **lunasnoir, oninoko, jpbake, hornedgoddess, vrupd.1992, riverfall, deadbreath, invisible me** and **stefalove** for the reviews!_


	94. ninety-four

_chapter word count: 562_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-four**

The White Fairy fell from a rooftop much like this one.

Leaning with his forearms on the safety rail, the chain passing through one hand into the other, Jack internally remarks on the deja vu of it all. From up high, with the sounds car engines and horns below him and the wind rushing through his hair and whipping his trench coat into a frenzy, the city sounds and feels exactly the same as it did on that fateful day. Which means it's as pretty and beautiful when it wants to be; dark and corrupt when you're not looking.

It feels so similar, so acute that it was almost yesterday, even if the rooftop of Elsa's apartment complex isn't the same.

His right hand wrapped around the Fairy's wrist, the only thing stopping Evil from falling to his death. The other, hooked around the steel safety rail above him.

" _So this is how it ends, Jack the Ripper? The valiant, tortured, lonely hero trying to save the despicable villain from death?"_

Staring out into the rest of the city's skyline, his eyes lingering on the grey A.P.D tower in the distance, he remembers how all the Fairy needed to do to live would be to grasp the concrete edge of the roof with his free hand, rather than let it dangle uselessly at his side. Remembers how _that was his design._

" _Death is too good for you, you child-abducting bastard."_

He chuckles once, a light scoff, and his eyes fall down to the chain in his hands. The Fairy had smirked at him, like it was all a big joke. Suspended by the grip of the man who found him, twenty storeys high.

" _Maybe so, but you know you'll never be able to catch me."_

Jack thought he was in complete control, but he's not so sure. Especially since all he could remember feeling at that moment was cold fury mixed with soul-destroying resignation. He was right - the Fairy's identity was never proven, and only Jack suspected who it was.

" _You're assuming...assuming I'll...be arresting you."_

There was only one way he could be stopped.

" _Are you really going to let me fall? You'll never find their bodies if you do…"_

And that way made him persona non grata in the building.

" _You always did underestimate me."_

He clearly recalls letting go, and watching the Fairy shrink further and further away until the moment he instantly stopped shrinking. Falling from a rooftop much like this one. Strange how one moment can change the course of your life.

He wonders if the next few moments will change it again, as the unfocused form of Elsa Black approaches from his right, distorted but recognisable in his peripheral vision. Maybe it'll even change hers. Who knows.

A hand roughly grasps his right bicep with vice-like tightness, and he feels the prick of something sharp being pressed against his abdomen. Wincing with the surprise pain, he glances down - a kitchen knife with a curved handle. Elsa is nothing if not pragmatic, it seems - and then looks back up into those rather captivating ice-blue eyes glaring into his with all the fury of a killer unleashed.

Her lips barely move as she speaks.

" _That_ belongs to me."

* * *

 _smoke, toke, coke. Jack's belly's gettin' a poke. I should actually mention that this is taking place a couple of days after Aster sent him home._

 _special thanks to: **hornedgoddess, anastasia, stefalove, oninoko, jpbake, ghost angel14** and **doomstone** for the reviews!_


	95. ninety-five

_chapter word count: 598_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-five**

Jack's lips twist into an ugly combination of a wry smirk and a wince - pretty sure that knife-tip might have drawn blood. "Getting to the _point_ so soon, Elsa? Usually people say ' _hi'_."

Her eyes narrow. "Is your death wish so strong, you would steal from who you believe to be a sociopath?"

Relaxing, despite the pricking pain, he chuckles darkly. "Well, this is the guy who tried to eat a bullet forty times, so...seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess."

The pressure against his stomach increases ever so slightly. She's skilled with a knife, apparently. "Why?" she says slowly, loudly enough to be heard over the rushing wind.

Jack's smirk falls, and he twists slightly so as to offer his entire torso to her, but also to extend his left hand further out of her reach. Her eyes rapidly snap to the chain dangling from his hand, and back to his, and her jaw visibly tenses.

"I know you put the ring on his body, just so you could laugh at a piece of evidence passing right through our hands. I know you _need_ this thing. It's your compulsion. Your trophy. I did it to punish you," he says, his eyes not leaving hers even once.

Her eyes crinkle, and her lips curl into a dark grin as she laughs. Mockingly. Leaning forward, body shifting slightly to the right, she taunts him. "Punish me? Shall I list the ways you failed? One; just because my late husband was never seen wearing it, does not prove that I put it on his body."

She leans forward a little more. Jack's breathing deepens; he doesn't know why, but there's an electricity in the thin distance between them, quickening his already thumping heart. "Two; even _if_ you had the key, I did not grant permission for you to enter my home. Unlawful entry. Not only that," she raises her eyebrows, as though she's nearing some kind of victory, "you _stole_ the so-called _evidence,_ therefore rendering it inadmissible. Not to mention that there's no investigation against me, and three?"

She closes even further. Even with the slight haze of adrenaline flowing through his body, the prominent thought in Jack's mind is that she's close enough to kiss. Tilting her head, her lips curl into a half-smirk. "Even _if_ you somehow managed to bring this to court, all I would need to do is to break down in front of the jury while I list the catalogue of abuse I suffered at my late husband's hands, and the ravings of an obsessed detective. The jury would acquit me, and your career would be in even more shambles than it already is."

Jack chuckles lightly. "You're right, Elsa. You're too clever for me. I can't beat you within the law."

Her eyes flash, and the point twists half an inch. "Flattering a supposed malignant narcissist? How facetious of you."

Jack's hand flexes slightly, and the chain drops an inch. Elsa's entire body tenses, and she jerks a micron toward it. Her eyes linger a little too long on it's glimmering form. "But this isn't for any case, this is for _me._ That's why-"

Her eyes return to his, and widen. She knows what he's about to do. "Don't!"

"-sometimes I ignore the law."

Before she can react, he draws back his left hand as best he can...and throws the chain off the rooftop.

* * *

 _OMG JACK Y U DO DAT. U R DOIN ME A FRIGHTEN._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, anastasia, vrupd.1992, stefalove, hornedgoddess, utruk, edgarallansnow, ghost angel14** and **jpbake** for the reviews!_


	96. ninety-six

_chapter word count: 545_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-six**

Elsa shrieks in shock. " _No!"_

The hand that once gripped his arm lashes out like a blur, twisting her entire body in a desperate attempt to grab the falling chain, but her fingertips don't even make contact. Helpless, the chain glimmers in the daylight as it drops to the sidewalk far below.

She's slow - and also wide open.

As soon as the blade's pressure releases with her involuntary and futile attempt to catch the chain, Jack's right hand grasps at her hooded sweater while his left fingers lace themselves around her knife-wrist, holding it well away, and with his thigh between her legs he pushes her against the safety rail to the point she's almost horizontal, braid dangling helplessly.

She's not even scared. Sure, her eyes are wide as she gazes into his, her lips are parted and her lungs rise and fall with such rapidity that it _seems_ she's in the grip of fear, but she's not afraid in the least. No, it's all _adrenaline,_ a rush. Judging by the strange sensation of something on his thigh, something _else_ too. She's freaking fearless.

"Well, what'll it be, Jack? Are you going to throw me off, or throw me to the ground and tear my clothes off? I must confess - I'm more aroused by the latter…" she pants.

And yet, with the physical control firmly in his hands, she still finds a way to get under his skin - because _now_ there's a mental image of her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into her, plum lips moaning hotly into his ear. Damn it. "You lose, Elsa," he growls, and tries to ignore the heat in his heart.

Exhaling loudly, he pulls her back up whilst wrestling the knife from her grip, and tosses it away. The steel blade clinks against the concrete, and clatters well out of her reach.

Eyes remaining firmly fixed upon her, he re-adjusts the position of his trench coat as she rests her right hand on the safety bar, and her left one over her heart. "This is how it's gonna go - if I even smell your involvement in anything, if I hear you're even _remotely_ connected to someone's murder...you even go _near_ Rapunzel again, I'll arrest someone else for your late husband's murder," he warns.

She gives him wounded, petulant. Like he's about to take away her favourite toy. "You can't do that," she protests, "you're a man of the law..."

Jack folds his arms. "Oh, I can. Nice bit of DNA, maybe a fingerprint or two - hey presto, drug dealer takes the fall. No more water-cooler talk about how clever the great Elsa Black was, to murder her husband and get away with it," he pauses, to step forward...hopefully intimidatingly, "no puzzle with you at its heart. You'll just fade into obscurity, remembered by no-one."

She gives him incredulous, like she's completely taken aback. Which is hilarious. "You'd do that? Diminish and break the law to punish me, and protect the woman who broke your heart?"

His eyes narrow. "To stop you from killing again? Watch me."

* * *

 _*pulls at collar* have to admit, I'm loving the reactions. Good news: the 100th NH update should be a nice treat. Bad news: my right wrist is giving me serious crap, so it's in a brace. Updating may be a little slow. Ow._

 _special thanks to: **evil cookie, doomstone, vrupd.1992, oninoko, stefalove, hornedgoddess, ghost angel14, jpbake, deadbreath** and **invisible me** for the reviews!_


	97. ninety-seven

_chapter word count: 482_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-seven**

"Why, Jack?"

She pauses, letting her breathing return to normal before she speaks again. "Is it out of love? How can you call it love, if love left you alone, broken, and corrupt?" she asks.

Looking down, deeply into her eyes, there's something that strikes him as odd - she's truly serious. She hasn't even blinked, and her gaze is searching, like the answer is wholly important to her. She really wants to know.

"Help me to understand, Jack," she says, and steps forward. The electricity fills the air once more, jolting his spine straight. "Love is supposed to enhance us. Make us better. Make us whole, give us meaning. How can it be love, if you are as broken as the law you claim to serve?"

Jack snorts, a single burst of air from his nose to accompany the sly curl on the left side of his lips. He shakes his head, and turns away from her. The concrete is hard under his feet as he walks away, delving both hands into his pockets. The silk lining caresses his hands, and the cold metal object kisses his fingertips.

"Answer me, Jack," she calls out. He ignores her.

He keeps walking.

"Answer the question," she calls out, shouts it.

Undeterred, his steps continue.

"Don't turn your back on me!" she yells out. The sly half-smirk on his lips becomes a full curl - how satisfying it is to get under _her_ skin for a change. Go for the ego, the narcissistic tendencies.

He turns, slowly, and faces her. She lifts her chin, and stares at him with a mixture of coldness and deep interest, with her hands in loose fists at her sides. Chuckling a single beat, he lifts out the object from his right pocket, and feels the weight shift slightly as gravity takes hold upon it.

The ring and its chain. Eyes lingering upon it, Jack has to admire its simplistic beauty. Silver _is_ his favourite, after all.

Her bangs dancing with the wind across her forehead, Elsa glances at it just the once, and her face relaxes in part-relief, part- _oh-ho-you-got-me-_ amusement. "Simple bait-and-switch, Elsa. Bought another cheap chain on the way here."

Flicking the chain up so it's all in the palm of his hand, he gently tosses it to her. "I see you, Elsa. I know your weakness," he says, less mockingly and more statement of fact.

She clenches it to her chest. "And I know _yours_ , Jack," and just as he turns away and heads towards the ugly-green roof-access door, he hears her call out, "and we'll be seeing a _lot_ more of each other!"

Lacing his fingers around the long, horizontal steel handle, he notes how, strangely, there's a part of him that's kind of looking forward to it.

* * *

 _sneaky. **Chiqanti -** the Kozmotis investigation is under the Ripper unit's control. **Riverfall -** she could, but it wouldn't be the same. _

_special thanks to: **hornedgoddess, vrupd.1992, doomstone, evil cookie, jpbake, chiqanti ceres, oninoko, stefalove, riverfall, anastasia** and **invisible me** for the reviews!_


	98. ninety-eight

_chapter word count: 447_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-eight**

"Well, you look chipper," Aster says, regarding Jack with a coolly bemused eye. The expression he wears reminds Jack of the looks he used to get whenever he'd say, " _you know I love you, right?"_ to which Aster would narrow his eyes and reply, " _whatever the fuck it is you want, piss off"._

Spreading his hands and shrugging, Jack feigns innocence, only a few stages short of a schoolgirl skirt and a lollipop. "Do I? Wasn't paying attention."

Aster scoffs and leans back into his chair, pinning both ends of his pen by his fingertips. "Yeah, right. Pull the other one. It's got bells on, mate."

Jack pockets his hands and smirks. Too easy. "That's gotta be fun in the bedroom. Do they jingle when you thrust?"

Aster glares at him. "You shut the hell up."

Undeterred, Jack _sings._ While crotch-thrusting. This is way too much fun. "Jingle bells," _thrust,_ "jingle bells," _thrust,_ "jingling all the way!"

If the detective's unit was quiet enough, he'd have heard the pop of Aster's vein in his temple as the poor bastard jumps to his feet and menacingly brandishes his pen. "I swear to God, mate, if you don't shut the hell up I'm gonna shove this where the sun don't shine."

It's all Jack can do to stop himself from bursting into laughter. First off, it feels weird. He hasn't laughed in _ages._ Secondly, Aster might actually do it. He throws his hands up in surrender. "Got it. I don't want no rectal penometer application."

"Too bloody right you shouldn't. I like this pen," Aster says, waggling it. He relaxes back into the chair and goes back to pinning it between his fingers again, watching him. "So what's our next move?"

Jack bends down to open the desk drawer and retrieve his notepad and pen. "Gonna go talk to Aurora's parents, then I'm gonna go to her place. I wanna get a feel for what she was like as a person."

"Think the parent's are gonna lie?" Aster says as he rolls onto his hip and plucks his phone from his pocket.

"Lie? Maybe. Everybody lies," Jack grunts, shrugging. "Nobody ever says in a eulogy how Jonny Trick was doing a hundred when he crashed, or that Jennifer Golightly ruined her kids' dreams 'cause she wanted to live vicariously through their dance career. It's only the good stuff. Wanna find out what a person was _really_ like? Go see where they live."

Aster looks down at his phone, frowns, and absentmindedly responds, "Yeah, okay. Meet you downstairs. Wife's calling."

* * *

 _I owe many apologies for having left it so long to update, though there are reasons for it. The first is that I tend to write by instinct. If I don't feel something works, it doesn't get written down, but my brain sometimes has issues working around it. Happens all the time. Second is that NH is a very **dark** fic. Death, violence, sadism. It means I have to put my mind in a very dark place, and for a while I just couldn't exist like that. Third is that I procrastinate like a pro, and am very lethargic. Fourth: OGaV is about to drop two or three bombshells, so my mind has been pretty much stuck on that. _

_But it still doesn't excuse me. You've been patient and waited for so long, so it was about time I gave myself a kick up the ass. I still need to get back into the groove, but it shouldn't take long._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, hornedgoddess, stefalove, oninoko, deadbreath, lunasnoir, guest, trapid, mystery, noircorda, waguneru, jackie** and **zane** for the reviews!_


	99. ninety-nine

_chapter word count: 406_

* * *

 **noir heart: ninety-nine**

Aster checks both ends of the alleyway two buildings over from the APD tower before he slides inside Hans' car. It's quiet and secret enough to avoid prying eyes unless you're actively looking.

"I got your message," he says after closing the door. Buried in a book, Hans offers nothing more than a finger as a request to wait. Huffing impatiently, Aster's eyes quickly check the street ahead. His heart starts thumping a rhythm of nerves as his mind subjects him to an appalling barrage of all the ways it could go wrong if he's caught with an IAB detective.

"C'mon, mate," he mutters, "Jack's waiting for me around the front. I told him I was gonna get coffee."

Hans glances up at him, then offers a polite smile. "Of course." With frustrated eye, Aster watches him lazily slip a bookmark into the book and close it. _Of Spirits and Angels,_ the title reads. Thiana loves that book.

"Apologies," Hans says, though it's insincere as hell. "The heroes are obvious Mary Sues, and the story is clichéd, but I find myself drawn to the villain."

Aster snorts; it doesn't surprise him in the least. "So what did you want?"

Hans' eyes scan the alleyway entrance, but with no more urgency than a sloth working at the DMV. "An update."

Scoffing incredulously, Aster throws up a hand, and stares at him. "Seriously? We only just got the case. It's gonna take a while before he starts doin' anything you want to catch him doin'."

Hans glances at him again. He chuckles under his breath, and returns to watching the street. "Of course. I was simply curious - however, that's not the real reason I sent you the message."

Aster frowns. Jack's gonna start looking for him at this rate, if Hans keeps up the slow-as-molasses act. "Well?" he prompts him.

"You may be off the hook sooner than you thought."

Aster can't help the overwhelming relief from flooding his body, though it's tinged with a heavy dose of mistrust and a sprinkle of foreboding. "How's that?" he asks, though he's not sure he wants to know.

Hans' eyes drift over, and there's a playful arrogance in those emerald irises. "You'll find out when I walk into your department and arrest Detective Frost for the murder of Detective Arnulf Southernisle."

* * *

 _early update because...well...I wanted to. Next update is a special one as it's the 100th. Definitely M-rated._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, maravillakatana, oninoko and jpbake for the reviews!**_


	100. one hundred

_chapter word count: 1,094_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred**

 **(warning: sexual content, mild bondage, masturbation. read at your own risk. skip update if desired)**

 _Elsa's wrists strain against the handcuffs, the steel warmed by her searing body heat. Her fingers clench to distract herself from the desire for freedom. Her body rocks back and forth, her knees a fulcrum. She wants to break free,_ needs _it, but not to escape. Fleeing is the_ last _thing she wants to do. Her restraints impede her,_ frustrate _her, as all she wants to do is glide her fingers over his chest. Claw at his shoulder when the next throaty moan cascades from her mouth. Pin_ him _to the bed whilst she swells her lips against his, feeding her desire to have every inch of him against and inside her._

 _No, she chose it. The handcuffs were her idea, not his. She wants to know what it's like to willingly relinquish control to another. Kozmotis took it from her, but she gives it freely to Jack. Lets herself be at his mercy, unable to do a thing about it. On her knees, held up by his right hand on her shoulder and left hand around the handcuff chain, she relishes the loss of control - because it makes every single thrust all the more explosive._

 _She fixes her eyes shut, mouth permanently open so indiscernible mewls, breathless calls of his name and filthy curses fill the air every time he slowly - but determinedly - fucks her. The storm of pleasure, its core in_ her _core, spreads through her entire being, threatening to overwhelm her and destabilise her mind. "Jack," she breathes - it's the only word that comes to mind._

 _He leans down so his chest presses against as much of her back as possible - her fingers, craving tactile reward, feather themselves across his skin and dig her nails in. "Elsa," he groans. His right hand moves from her shoulder and slides across her breasts, massaging and kneading them, her right nipple sliding as easily between his fingers as if it was meant to be there. It only drives her further and further on to her third orgasm of the night. His hand abandons her breast, much to her frustration, but validates its movement when she feels it slide down her sweat-slick skin, past her navel, and press a single finger against her nub. A cry of ecstasy rips the air. Her eyes squeeze shut, and her swollen, pulsing insides clamp around him like a vice. He grunts in response, and his hot breath against her ear only intensifies the pleasure. She strains against the metal - it's not enough. She wants more. More pleasure, more electricity, more mindless sex. More of_ him.

" _Take them off," she orders. Maybe she hasn't relinquished all control - Jack obeys her, sliding the key he previously tossed onto the empty space on the bed into its lock._

 _She hears the click before she feels freedom kiss her wrists, and she wastes no time. The second her hands hit the bed to stop herself from flopping into the bedsheet, she pushes herself onto her back and pulls him down by his neck to capture his lips, whilst he rectifies the sin of not being inside her for those precious seconds. He slides inside with one long thrust that steals her breath, filling her completely. "Jack," she pants against his reddened, thoroughly-kissed lips. Her hips buck up to match him as he pounds into her, and she clamps her legs around him to feel every inch of him inside her in places she'd never been touched. Her hands release his neck and proceed to claw into his back, while his lips find the reddened, well-kissed point where her neck meets her shoulder. "Fuck me," she moans into his ear, crying out when his teeth nibble at a particularly sweet spot. "Faster!" He obliges, pounding harder and faster into her. "Oh God," she squeals - the storm of golden ecstasy has been building exponentially and threatening to engulf her, and she's about to topple over the edge and fall into its electrifying embrace._

" _Elsa," he pants into her ear, "I'm about to…"_

" _So am I…" she is barely able to whisper, inches from losing her mind, "do it. I want it. Inside me."_

 _She feels him explode inside her, searing heat filling her like lava. Her muscles sing with glee and constrict his length, gripping it for all its worth, wanting to pull it inside. It sends her nerves into a frenzy, the sensation of him spilling himself, and her body is pushed over the edge. Her orgasm rips through her like a tidal wave from her core, sending screams of delight and of his name into the heavens whilst her body jerks and shudders against and away from him, and her mind flies to somewhere in the stratosphere._

 _He pulls back to look at her with a lidded, vacant gaze - the kind of look where the mind has long since abandoned the eyes. His snow-white hair is slick with sweat - the perfect look for him. He's still inside her - she wants it to stay that way. "Is this what you wanted?" he whispers - and he's sincere. He needs to know her answer. "Is this worth killing for?"_

 _With no trace of deceit, she cups his face and replies, "Yes."_

* * *

Squealing, her orgasm practically lifts her from the bed, such is the force with which it bucks her hips into the sky. Her left hand scrunches the pillow to cope with the ecstasy tearing through her, and her right hand continues to expertly rub over her swollen, slick clit, seeking to prolong her orgasm. Masturbation was something she engaged in often when she was married, seeking to remind herself that sex for pleasure, not power, existed.

Her hips sink down into the bedsheet as her muscles fail her, the fabric damp with sweat. Exhausted by the ferocity with which she indulged herself, her hands slide across her naked hip and flop down onto the bed, leaving a thin trail of liquid. She forces her eyes open, and there's a flash of disappointment when there's no white-haired detective's face to greet her.

Although, that's something she intends to change - until then, she supposes pleasuring herself in the privacy of her apartment at two in the afternoon, fantasising about him will have to do.

She closes her eyes in contentment, and smiles to herself as her breath returns to her, laid naked in her bed with her unbraided, platinum blonde hair a wild, sprawling mess.

Such hardship.

* * *

 _bumper update today, nearly triple the words. Also, with it being the 100th update, a commemorative treat. Feels like ages since I last wrote smut. Apologies if it's rusty. I ALSO HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE SEX FROM THE FEMALE PERSPECTIVE (hashtag chemistry dog meme)._

 _special thanks to: **colormeaya, anastasia, last future of embryo, oninoko, stefalove, whimsical acumen, jpbake, snowfire12345, isawaliciaarrow, maravillakatana** and **waguneru** for the reviews!_


	101. one hundred and one

_chapter word count: 568_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and one**

"I'm sorry about my husband," Leah Mills murmurs apologetically, eyeing the same door Jack is. "Aurora was our only child, and he doted on her. She was his little princess."

The hotel room Stefan and Leah Mills hired is the stereotypical, middle-class abode. White vertical blinds on the windows overlooking the buzzing rush-hour streets from ten storeys up, a pleasant beige carpet with furniture a shade lighter, and a large white king-size divan bed opposite the main window. Jack gets the sense that they hired any old hotel room just so they could be in the city. Predictably, however, Stefan became irate and indignant, blaming Captain Moors for her failure to protect Aurora from all the evils in the world. It's understandable and classic father behaviour, but not conducive to the situation, so the only option for Jack was to ask Aster to escort Stefan out of the room and interview him separately.

He could have done without Aster being so distracted, though. Halfway through the interview and all of the questions had been asked solely by Jack, with his partner completely lost in anxious thought. "It's alright, Mrs Mills," he says softly. "You are both in a terrible situation, it's natural for him to react in such a way."

Her eyes return to him, and they're numb. Empty. The death of their daughter has caused her to collapse in on herself, and with her being the spitting image of her daughter...it's like interviewing someone about their own death. "Maybe so," she says in a voice nearly too quiet to hear, "but it isn't fair to blame Jane."

Jack says nothing on the subject - he shares the same opinion, but it would be inappropriate to voice it. He takes a breath and gears his mind; the usual questions have been asked - what was Aurora's feelings on moving into the city; did she have any enemies; had she mentioned anything about being followed, or unwanted attention, so now it's the next set of usual questions: relationships.

After all, a third of women murdered, met their ends at the hands of their intimate partners. It's worth either ruling it out or confirming it.

"Was your daughter in a relationship at all?" he asks, pen poised over the notepad in his left hand.

Leah's eyes fall to the table, and her brows knit themselves together. "She told me a few weeks ago that she'd started dating somebody."

Jack notes it down. "Do you know the name of this person?"

She tilts her head to the side and frowns in recollection. "I think his name was Phillip." She nods in agreement with her own memory. "She said he was in the same lectures as her."

The name Phillip finds its way onto his notepad, and is underlined. So that's the death-by-partner theory out of the window, then, given that he's the second victim. The one that's holier than Swiss cheese.

There's a niggling itch in the back of his mind, accompanied by a faint impatience as he exhales through his nose; the feeling there's not much else he can learn from Aurora's parents. "Thanks for your time, Mrs Mills," he says in a soft, regretful voice as he rises from the chair. "I'm sorry for your loss."

* * *

 _Well, your reviews have been a real confidence boost. Been chuckling at a few of them, too. Looking at you, oninoko, maravillakatana, jpbake and doomstone. Anyway, a few more of Jack, then Elsa's back in the game - and she should hopefully kick off something cool I've been planning in terms of narrative storytelling, as we're about to delve into Jack's backstory, and a surprise new character's gonna pop up. I'm also trying to build up a buffer, so OGaV may be slightly delayed._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, snowfire12345, last future of embryo, lunasnoir, maravillakatana, oninoko, jpbake, stefalove** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews!_


	102. one hundred and two

_chapter word count: 790 (woopsie)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and two**

Aurora is old school, judging by her room. The furniture is all mahogany, from her bed to her dressing table, her wardrobe to her chair. Posters of old romantic movies like _Gone with the Wind, My Fair Lady, Romancing the Stone, The Adventures of Robin Hood_ and even _The Princess Bride_ \- which brought to Jack's mind the infamous Inigo Montoya quote - adorn her walls, and expertly-painted ceramic figures of princes and princesses rest in pride of place on her shelves.

Every single thing points to classic romance and the art of falling in love. Dancing in a forest, finding her Prince Charming. She was a rare breed. Jack feels his heart sink a little. As his eyes trace over the dressing table, where the frame is covered in pictures of her with her family, with her housemate Ariel, her best friend Belle and with Jane who, somewhat surprisingly, is smiling. Must be before she became Captain.

Aurora was innocent, an optimist, committed to her friends and dreaming of falling in love - and judging by how she double-circles _THIRD DATE NIGHT_ on the calendar fixed to the wall, potentially found her soul mate. A precious rose in a field of cynicism, a believer in the power of love surrounded by those who think it's a weakness.

Behind him, Aster blurts out, "Witness!"

Jack starts, and shoots him an odd look. "What?"

Aster glances up at him, again wearing the same expression of the world slowly coming back to him. This is the second time he's been off with the fairies, and it's getting on Jack's nerves. He blinks, and nervously looks away. "Sorry. Erm...I mean I wish we had a witness."

"Huh." Jack narrows his eyes. "You okay there, Kangaroo?"

Scowling, Aster snaps, "I am not a kangaroo!" and proceeds to interest himself in the ceramic figurines. Rolling his eyes, Jack returns to perusing the pictures. She's a beautiful soul. Bright. Caring.

"Today's society would have a field day with Aurora," he says, and realises too late he let his thoughts slip out.

"What do you mean?"

Glancing at him, Jack shrugs. "She was a good kid. Loved her friends, spent most of her free time with them. According to Ariel, she was focused. Driven. Kept on top of her college work. Wanted to become a fashion designer - but because she's old fashioned and believes in falling in love, being swept off her feet by a handsome prince, she would be seen as less of a woman. It's kind of sad, actually."

"Yeah, well," Aster grunts as he picks up a red-bound journal, opens to the most recent entry and begins to read, "I reckon romance ain't as dead as they think."

"If you say so," Jack mutters. "You still have someone who loves you."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Jack sighs with exasperation. "But there's one thing that's bugging me. Everything in this room tells me Aurora's into classic romance, so there's no way she'd give away her virginity to someone on the third date, right?"

"So?"

Jack pulls his hand out from his trench coat pocket and gesticulates gently alongside every other word. "Well, here's a bit of pop trivia - I lost my virginity in the last year of high school. Music room. It was awkward, we didn't know what we were doing."

"Please stop."

"I mean, it was our first time, so I was fumbling down there like I lost my keys and she was pumping me like a trombone-"

Aster starts massaging his temple just as Jack glances over. "I don't need the mental image, mate. Zip it."

"-and when it came to the-" Jack pauses to make an O with his left thumb and forefinger, and slides his right forefinger inside it with a comical whistle, "I wasn't exactly accurate-"

"Mate, if you do not shut up I am gonna punch you in the mouth," Aster spectacularly deadpans, "I do not need to know that."

"Funny you should say that," Jack smirks, waggling a finger, "because neither did my parents. Only Hans knew. Who do young people talk to about things they don't want their parents to know?"

Aster glances up, the train of thought leaving the platform in his mind, too, in the form of a wry smile and an identical finger waggle. "They talk to their best mates."

Jack's smirk falls to a knowing half-smile curled at the left corner of his lips, and his eyes fall upon a photo-booth picture of Aurora with her right cheek squished up against Belle's left, both wearing wide, happy grins.

* * *

 _I'm an old romantic._

 _doomstone: next lot of updates should satisfy that._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, hornedgoddess, stefalove, oninoko, jpbake, last future of embryo, memu** and **isawaliciaarrow** for the reviews!_


	103. one hundred and three

_chapter word count: 774 (I'm a very naughty boy)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and three**

As it turns out, the reason Belle has been out of the city is due to her father experiencing a heart attack a week before Aurora's murder. So naturally, she dropped everything to be with and care for him, and has been in Virginia ever since - and to Jack's eternal and respectfully silent gratitude, Ariel had made her aware of her her best friend's death as soon as news broke out.

No cop wants to be the one to break the news.

She's helpful, though. Even from the other end of a video call the day after he visited Aurora's house, she's been able to confirm Jack's assessment of Aurora's personality, plus Phillip's too.

And there are questions you can ask the best friend that you can't ask the parents, like-

"What were Aurora's attitudes to sex?"

Belle blinks, and discomfort flashes across her face as she awkwardly looks away. Immediately, Jack feels the burn of guilt and shame in his chest, and internally berates himself for his directness. "Sorry," he says in a self-reproachful voice, holding up a hand, "I don't mean to be blunt. I mean - how did she feel about it in a relationship?"

"Ah," she says, nodding slowly though the unsettled expression remains, "well, Aurora was very old-fashioned in that regard. She said she wanted to wait for the right time, and was saving herself until then."

Jack frowns slightly, and crosses his arms on the desk, facing the brunette filling his computer screen. "So there's no chance she would have given into temptation?"

"Non." Belle shook her head with as much conviction as her voice. "She was quite adamant in her belief that wilfully giving one's virginity to the person you love is one of the deepest expressions of love possible."

Jack's stomach sinks; he was afraid of that. Hiccup's report had indicated Phillip was the guy she gave herself to, and examination of the relevant area had suggested it was consensual, but everything he knows about the two young people doesn't support that in the slightest. Aurora would not have slept with Phillip until they were both ready, and even then, it was far too well-timed with their disappearance to be coincidental.

So now it's a definite pattern, as every double murder involved the victims having sex during their disappearance and recently enough for the fluids to still be present.

Yet, being held captive by a murderous, batshit crazy, psychopathic fruitcake is one hell of a dampener on the ol' libido.

"Thanks for your time, Miss Laurent," Jack says, forcing a grateful smile on his face to hide the nausea creeping into his stomach, "Is it okay if I contact you should I have further questions?"

"Certainly," she says in a voice cracked and quiet as the sound of fresh snow underfoot, "any time. Please, promise me you'll catch the person who did this."

Rule number...he forgets: never promise anything. It'll come back to bite you on the ass. "I will do my best, Miss Laurent. Goodbye."

She bids him farewell, and the screen returns to the idle calling list a second later. Relaxing back into his chair, Jack curls an arm around his chest, to support the elbow of the other one as he rests a finger under his chin in thought. He stares at the keyboard, mind ticking over while he speaks his thoughts out loud.

"Victims disappear on a Friday. Killed as early as Sunday night, and dumped in the city on a Monday morning, with no IDs or clothing. Multiple stab wounds to the men, efficient single strike to the women, and presence of sexual fluids on both. Possible intercourse under duress. Postmortem carving of matching halves of a love heart onto torso. Presence of…"

Scopolamine. It's another thing that bugs him, the presence of seasickness medication in their systems. It's important to Cupid somehow, and it gives Jack not only the feeling of something sinister creeping down his spine, but the sense that once he ascertains its importance, the profile will fall into place.

He surges over to the computer and brings up Google, hurriedly typing the name in, but just before he can hit the enter key…

"Detective Frost," the auburn-haired, sideburn-rocking blast from the past says in a voice dripping with faux-politeness, stood inches away from him in a flagrant disregard for personal space, "would you kindly accompany me into Interview Room A, please?"

Hans.

And the day was going so well.

* * *

 _holy crap nearly 900 reviews. what is this. this is madness. y u like so much, this is sequence of annoyingly short updates. *blinks*_

 _also, one of you readers is a very naughty person. Especially when it comes to Jack's...inaccuracy...in the previous chapter. *waggles finger*_

 _Elsa's up next._

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, little miss saigon, doomstone, stefalove, last future of embryo, maravillakatana, colormeaya, hornedgoddess, hugs and puppies all around, jpbake, guest** and **guest** for the reviews!_


	104. one hundred and four

_chapter word count: 518_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and four**

It amuses Elsa how easily one is able to acquire information. All she needed to do was a game of trial-and-error searching for the correct telephone service provider, find a particularly gullible operator and then impersonate a police officer. A little bit of convincing later, and she learned the address of one Mr. Nicholas St. North.

It's a rustic, old-fashioned log and timber cabin-style house situated a half hour outside the city limits. As she walks up the dusty path toward the main door, with the well-tended lawn either side of her and the multitude of flowers creating a border around it, she gets the sense Mr. St. North _really_ likes Christmas. Between the two pine trees on the veranda flanking the front door, the wooden carved reindeer either side of the steps to the veranda, and the giant bauble peeking out from behind the house's left corner, half-painted red with intricate white filigree, she has no idea how she gets that vibe.

She knocks briskly and firmly, two strikes against the smoothly carved and varnished door, and inspects the _babushka_ doll design carved into the wall above the doorframe. She tries to recall the details; not long after the news reports of Jack being investigated as a result of accusations of misconduct, Mr. St. North was reported to be retiring from the police force. It was the timing that did, and still does, arouse Elsa's curiosity - so if anyone knows what it was that sent Jack on his dark road, his old captain will.

There's a heavy clunk muffled slightly by the door, and Elsa takes a few steps back in response. Which was sensible...as Mr. St. North is nearly _seven feet tall._ Sporting a great bushy white beard, coal-black eyebrows and youthful eyes, wearing a tent of a red sweater and parachute-sized black pants, his girth approximates that of his height - but Elsa has the weird sense that it's not fat, he's naturally huge. Craning her neck up thanks to her five-four height, even with the advantage of being four steps away from him, Elsa adjusts the fake spectacles and clutches the notepad to her cardigan-covered chest.

She adopts as bright and innocent an air as she can muster, and smiles widely. "Good afternoon, Mr. St. North!" she says. "I'm Ilsa Menzel, we spoke on the phone?"

His eyes crinkle, and two points of his beard hitch up in a smile. "Da. I remember. You are here about Jack Frost."

"That's right." Elsa nods. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about him? Some of us feel he was unfairly raked over the coals by the media and by the police, so I was hoping to learn more about him and-"

"You want to set record straight, da? And please, call me Nicholas."

Elsa's smile becomes lipped, but it's still sincere. "Precisely."

He claps his hands together, and cracks a booming laugh. " _Otlichno,_ Miss Menzel!" he bellows excitedly, "Please, come in."

* * *

 _well, well._

 _Thanks to oninoko for their assistance with Russian language. North's speech is actually really hard to write._

 _special thanks to: **stefalove, oninoko, doomstone, last future of embryo, jpbake, littletimothy, waguneru, a reader** and **guest for the reviews!**_


	105. one hundred and five

_chapter word count: 794 (ish)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and five**

Bewildering. The inside of the house is three times as Christmassy as the outside. As she sits patiently waiting on the edge of the huge emerald green couch, so cavernous she's in danger of getting lost between its cushions, she casts a perplexed eye at the fully-decorated Christmas tree in the far corner of the room, next to the claret-with-gold-trim curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling window. It's not even December.

There's a muffled clunk of the door opening behind and to her left, and she twists to observe Nicholas pushing the door with his butt, sausage-thick fingers clutching two large metal tankards of the hot chocolate he offered a few minutes ago. He looks up and shoots her a wild grin, and her eyes widen as the realisation hits her: this rotund, exuberant, loud man could _actually_ be Father Christmas. Anna could have been right all along.

He passes one of the tankards to her with a hirsute hand, and chooses the smaller couch directly opposite her. As she takes a sip, she raises a brow at how the old British bulldog, once happily snoozing on the end of the couch nearest the roaring fire, is launched into the air with the force of Nicholas' touchdown, shoots him a glare as he lands disgracefully, and trots out of the room. Nicholas is completely oblivious to his dog's spontaneous flight, of course. However, the peculiar scene goes out of the window as soon as the liquid touches her taste buds: it's an explosion of seasonal sweetness that tastes like Christmas in a drink. She stares down into the warm brown concoction, oblivious to the moustache of chocolate on her upper lip. "This is delicious," she says in what she hasn't felt for years: awe.

Nicholas breaks out into raucous chuckles, taps his upper lip then gestures to her mouth, and she hurriedly pulls out a tissue from her cardigan to wipe away the damning evidence. "It is good, da?" he says, grinning. "Secret is marshmallow and sprinkle of cinnamon. Makes for excellent hot chocolate." His face then drops with no warning, and he scrutinises her closely.

"Don't you agree, Mrs Black?

The tankard freezes an inch from her mouth. She blinks, and the rush of surprise catches her breath. Her mind automatically makes damn sure she's aware of the living room door, and how it's still open. "...how did you know?"

Nicholas scoffs, and relaxes back into the sofa. Elsa briefly wonders if a small animal was squashed in the process. "My dear, I still have friends in detective unit and I keep tabs on Jack Frost. So, if there's anything he is involved in, I know about it...and I know all about you, Mrs Black. I may be old, but still sharp as _shashka._ "

There it is. The prickle of worry in her stomach. The tankard still hasn't moved, and neither has her eyes from his. He continues, "I know about how you beat him - it is great achievement. I also know he thinks you murdered your husband."

"I-" she tries to interject, but Nicholas holds up a hand.

"Kozmotis Black was psychopath, and world is safer without man like him. I also know Jack Frost well enough to know that if you are not in jail, he is somehow satisfied that you will not kill again. So, in some way, he trusts you."

Elsa's heart skips a beat.

"Therefore, so do I. You want to know about him, da?"

Elsa lowers her tankard to her lap, and nods with resolve and certainty. "I do."

"Then I have one condition, Mrs. Black." He gestures toward her with his tankard, and bounces his eyebrows in an " _I'm watching you"_ expression. "The deception ends here, understand?"

Elsa smiles cheekily, removes the spectacles to toss them to her side, and salutes him with three fingers to her right temple. "Girl Scout's honour, Mr. St. North. No more deception."

" _Otlichno!"_ he booms, and raises his tankard with such vigor that its contents are in danger of becoming as flight-worthy as the dog, "So, Mrs. Black, what do you want to know?"

"The White Fairy," she says in a smooth voice, soft and craving, "I would like to know who they were, and what they did to make Jack the way he is now. And please - call me Elsa."

Nicholas' face falls, and there's a flash of regret and pain in those once-twinkling eyes of his as they too fall. "Ah. The case that broke him. Well," he sighs as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "if you wish to truly understand, we must start at beginning."

* * *

 _North's speech is surprisingly hard to write._

 ** _stefalove:_** _hey, he didn't become captain for nothin'._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, stefalove, last future of embryo, hornedgoddess** and **isawaliciaarrow** for the reviews!_


	106. one hundred and six

_chapter word count: 604_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and six**

Well, fate's a comedian; the interview room he's been put in is the exact same one in which he questioned Elsa Black. The temperature is distractingly cold, it's clinically clean, and _he's_ the one on the other side of the table. The one under the magnifying glass. The suspect. The one advantage he has over his step-brother, who is and has been perusing through the folder of his life for the past half hour, is that Jack adores the cold. Flourishes in it. Keeps him sharp. Hans, on the other hand, hated it.

Still, Jack can't decide if he'd either tip Fate for its hilarious stand-up routine, or punch it in the teeth. Sat in a position of folded arms and slightly parted legs, glaring fire at the irritatingly slow I.A. detective opposite, he knows he's displaying all the body language showing dishonesty and obfuscation but considering his entire thought process is " _go to hell, Hans",_ that's what his body is screaming.

Hans gently and elegantly closes the folder, entwines his fingers together and exhales loudly through his nose as he fixes Jack with a searching look. "Sorry. Engaging read."

Jack remains silent.

Uttering a ' _hm',_ Hans briefly looks down to feather his fingers over the folder, and there's the scrape of paper on metal as the folder is slid well away. "So, to business." Pulling out a notepad and pen from inside his suit jacket, Hans unblinkingly stares at Jack as he flicks it open and clicks the pen. "Detective Jack Frost, this is a continuance of the investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Detective Arnulf Southernisle."

Jack scoffs impatiently. "The third interview, you mean."

Hans' lips curl ever so slightly. "As you were the only witness to the...accident...the purpose of this interview is to-

Jack interrupts sharply. "Cut the bullshit, Hans. You wanna know if I did it."

"-is to ascertain what you did or did not see, and whether you were simply a witness to an unfortunate accident...or a suspect in a murder," Hans finishes, unfettered by the interruption.

Eyes of blue roll derisively. "Like I said."

Hans continues in that smooth, deceitful voice that makes Jack want to feed him the notepad. "So, I would like to know the nature of your connection to Detective Southernisle. Tell me - when did you first encounter the deceased?"

"You were there. You already know." Flashes of Macbeth, of empty seats, of disappointment and anguish flood his mind. His fists clench, and his teeth try to force each other through bone.

"Detective Frost, please answer the question."

Jack studies him for a moment. This damn interview has been conducted way too many times before, and he's getting tired of the same old bullshit. On the other hand, this is the first time Hans has conducted the interview...so Jack wonders if it's worth playing along. He might even learn something. "Fine." Jack scoots the chair forward and rests his hands on the table, and the memory of Elsa sitting exactly the same floats to his mind. "I first encountered Arnulf when he was a beat cop. He was the one to break the news of that that junkie did to my family.

Hans makes a sound of acknowledgement, and proceeds to make a note. "You are referring to the carjacking in which your mother, father and sister were killed by a drug addict?"

Jack's eyes darken, and his pulse quickens that little bit. "Yeah. The night he decided I was gonna be an orphan."

* * *

 _Oninoko should buy a lottery ticket._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, chiqanti ceres, oninoko** and __**stefalove** for the reviews!_


	107. one hundred and seven

_chapter word count: 627 (bad furiyan!)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and seven**

"I was only detective then, but I was assigned crime scene. Jack's family was on way to see his high school play, but was held at gunpoint by meth addict at red light. Looking to score fix. Frost's father tried to resist, but perp shot him. Then he shot mother, then sister. Bang," he taps the couch's arm loud enough for it to be heard over the fire. "Bang." Another tap. "Bang." That one is accompanied by the crack of the wood succumbing to the dying fire.

Elsa clutches her tankard in both hands, the warm metal a soothing sensation under her fingertips, while she watches Nicholas' every movement and listens to his every word. Everything about Jack might be explained in the next hour or so, and she's determined to not miss a single syllable. Even if his English is broken and hard to understand at times.

"I send Arnulf to inform Jack, and bring him to A.P.D. tower for confirmation. Whole family. Wiped out, one night."

The same sensation of pity that crept into her heart when she listened to Rapunzel, this time barges its way in and sits on the metaphorical armchair, stubbornly refusing to move. How tragic it must be to learn your family was brutally murdered on the way to see you perform, that fate decided you would be the last living descendant of your name.

"What happened to Jack after that?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Well," Nicholas says, before pausing to take a sip. "Arnulf took pity on Jack, so as soon as trial was over, he and his brother who was also Jack's best friend convince Mr. and Mrs. Southernisle to adopt Jack into family. Arnulf said many times how grateful Jack was, so it no surprise Jack applied to Arendelle Police Academy."

Elsa nodded. "He wanted to be like Arnulf."

"Da." Nicholas slowly waggled a finger at her. "The two boys, and their new friend Aster Bunnymund, became best cadets in group. They work hard, also play hard. Apparently, Jack was a hit with ladies. Roguish looks and twinkle in eye. Many times, Arnulf said, he had numbers of ladies, and rumours of hanky-panky with female cadets."

 _That_ part Elsa can wholeheartedly believe.

"Anyway - he passed final exams with flying colours, graduated, became uniformed cop-" Elsa had to fight tooth-and-nail to keep the image of Jack in uniform from her mind, "-and two years later, took detective exam. All under Arnulf's mentoring, of course, who had been promoted to senior detective at same time as I make captain."

Elsa takes a large draught of the glorious nectar of the chocolate gods, and swallows. "So it would be fair to say that Arnulf was very close to both Jack and Hans, correct?"

"Da, but not just them. Whole unit loved Arnulf. Easy-going, optimistic, clever. Cunning. Honed Jack's observational skills and turned his deductive mind into weapon against crime. Everything that Jack is now, he owes to Arnulf."

Elsa frowns. "But from what I hear, Jack is-"

"A shadow of his former self," Nicholas finishes for her. If it was anyone else, she would be fighting off thoughts of using the tankard to bash their skull in for the interruption, but she's far too rapt for that. "You see, Jack's skills were so good, those above me assigned him toughest cases, those too depraved, too dark, too soul-destroying for anyone else. And in gaining those cases, he also gained nickname. One he hates."

Elsa licks her lips, but otherwise doesn't move an inch. This could be further ammunition into getting past his wall against the world. "What nickname is that?"

"Jack the Ripper."

* * *

 _dun dun dun! I should also make a correction: in an earlier chapter, Rapunzel says she met Jack in a bar when he had become a cadet. He had actually graduated to a uniformed cop at that point, not a cadet. That's a mistake on my part, so sorry if it causes any continuity or consistency issues._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, littlemiss-rozaann, oninoko, hornedgoddess, riverfall, hugs and puppies all round, stefalove, maravilla katana, trapid** and **jpbake** for the reviews!_


	108. one hundred and eight

_chapter word count: 464_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and eight**

Jack's chest fills with anger, and he can't help the scowl from crossing his face at the mere mention of the name. What could he possibly have in common with a serial killer from nineteenth century England? Jack the Ripper was a terrifying individual, not least to the poor women he preyed upon.

Hans watches him closely, scrutinising him for every single tic. "And how did you get that name?"

"I got that stupid name 'cause some idiot started it, okay?" he snaps.

"There's a reason for every nickname, Detective. Even one so...apt...as yours. How did you get it?"

Jack says nothing for a time, unless breathing loudly counts as speaking. It's a ridiculous nickname and he knows it, and it doesn't help that the White Fairy used it as a taunt. "The unit…" he pauses, curling his lips between his teeth and allowing his eyes to dance up to the ceiling, "...the unit call me Jack the Ripper, because every single time I went to arrest one of those fucked-up psychopaths, I had to put a bullet in them. Every single one."

There was a running joke in the unit that there was a black T-shirt with a white skull under his suit. Want your perp alive? Don't give the case to Jack.

"Interesting." Hans makes a note of _that_ too, much to Jack's chagrin. I.A. has a way of twisting evidence and statements to suit their narrative, and they'll have a field day with that. "Is that because you were carrying out some form of vigilante justice, ignoring due process, as your faith in our system of law is so degraded?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "No."

Hans chuckles. It's a knowing, yet calculated sound - as though Jack just walked into a trap. "And yet you have more complaints of excessive force, evidence tampering, misconduct and a higher body count than the entire unit combined. Maybe it was better you killed criminals like the Skinner and the Son of Mengele, as your maverick tendencies and arrogance would have gotten the cases thrown out of court."

Leaning forward, Jack half-smirks. "Can you prove any of that?"

The smile that curls Hans' lips, the one Jack would dearly love to smack off his face, falls like a stone.

"Thought not," he says as he leans back.

Hans scowls, and his once smooth-as-butter voice takes on a menacing edge. "Make no mistake, Detective Frost, your admittedly spectacular case closure rate can only shield you for so long."

"So I've heard," Jack deadpans, unmoved.

"Indeed." Hans turns over a leaf, and the pen is poised ready to strike down upon the paper. "Now, tell me about the White Fairy."

* * *

 _loving this narrative style. really fun. **stefalove:** it's more to do with poor impulse control, and possibly a little arrogance. Sociopathy has those in spades - if that is what Elsa truly is. **eirene!**_ _hai! so stoked to see you're still reading this. I honestly didn't know it had that effect, just felt right to put it in. **last future:** it's fine. I noticed you had a story on the go, don't stress about not reviewing. I'm just happy you're reading._

 ** _whimsical acumen:_** _cheers for the heads up. have changed it._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, oninoko, sociallyawkwardoutcast** (hai!) **, last future of embryo, hugs and puppies all around, waguneru, eireneharmonia, stefalove, hornedgoddess, trapid** and **heartonfire** for the reviews!_


	109. one hundred and nine

_chapter word count: 573 (tut tut)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and nine**

"White Fairy was Jack's nemesis." Nicholas drained the rest of his hot chocolate, and placed the empty tankard on the cushion at his side. "He alone frustrated, scared, enraged and damaged Jack more than others, even Graveyard House."

"What did he do?" Elsa asked, taking a quick sip. The stenographer in her mind waited patiently by the metaphorical machine, committing every word, pause and syllable.

"Is not what he did, but who he did it to. Once a month, a child would go missing. Week later, family of missing child receive toy white fairy in mail. It was signature, like a calling card. Child could be travelling home from school one moment, vanish next. No trace. No witnesses. No evidence. White Fairy was careful, methodical, patient, and extremely intelligent - in many ways, Jack's antithesis. His dark to Jack's light, if you will."

"How did he catch him?"

"Technically, he didn't. You see, once Jack was brought onto case, he started to understand. White Fairy never left ransom note or phone call, only taunted. Only communication from Fairy was to parents, and that was where Jack worked out reason for attacks - their parents. Fairy was _punishing_ them. See, he could kill child and dump body, but for Fairy it not enough. He wanted parents to live every day with hope, hope that he could take away in second if he wanted to, and to live with dread of finding body. He wanted parents to live in turmoil, never knowing for certain if their child was alive, always waiting for _that_ phone call. He wanted parents to _suffer."_

Elsa knows she should feel pity for the parents, but empathising with people is next to impossible. Especially since _her_ parents knew exactly where she was: locked away so she couldn't kill. They said it was for the safety of everyone else, but Elsa knew. She knew it was for the safety of the _one_ person she would never let any harm come to. Attempting to distract herself, she said, "I remember hearing about the entire city being on alert, how the schools increased safety measures to protect their children."

Nicholas nodded sagely. "Da. And yet, children still disappeared." He made a _poof_ sound, and the gesture of something vanishing with his huge hands. Elsa looked down in thought.

"How did it affect Jack?"

The host scoffed bitterly. "Badly. Jack barely ate, barely slept. What he did not finish at work, he took home. He was so committed to catching Fairy, despite him being one step ahead, that he forgot how to live. His wife Rapunzel divorced him, he closed himself off from friends. I told him many times to stop, take step back. Take break. His response was always same: ' _I'll stop when the bastard is either in cuffs, or in the ground'."_

Frowning, Elsa asks, "Why, then, with the increased safety measures, were children still disappearing?"

The left side of Nicholas' bushy mustache curls up in a half smile, but his eyes radiate a bitter knowing. The kind of look when you think you're about to blow someone's mind. "I will answer question with question. In a society where children are discouraged from accompanying strangers, who is it that we as a people are conditioned to obey and trust?"

Elsa's face relaxed in comprehension. She snorted gently. "Of course. The White Fairy was a _police officer_."

* * *

 _that twist was probably obvious. Or not. I have no idea. What time is it? Turtles. THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH!_

 _special thanks to: **whimsical acumen, doomstone, oninoko, jpbake, stefalove, last future of embryo, hugs and puppies all around, hornedgoddess, guest, guest** and **deadbreath** for the reviews!_


	110. one hundred and ten

_chapter word count: 503_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and ten**

That's quite the accusation." Hans' eyebrows rise into his hair, though there's no impressed or surprised look. Condescension in spades, however. "Have you any proof, or is it just wild, unsubstantiated theory?

Jack's lips twist, and though he says nothing, his eyes betray him with a quick glance away.

Hans scoffs lightly, and jots something Jack can't see into his notepad. "I thought so," he says somewhat victoriously, and then looks up through his eyebrows at Jack. "It must have made you very angry, being so helpless."

Jack folds his arms and tries to slouch into his chair, giving him maximum indifference. "Wouldn't you be? One of the people who swore to protect and serve turns out to be one of the bad guys," he says. Maybe if he turns the interview away from him for a second, it'll give him time to regroup.

The smile that curls Hans' lips is an ugly one, like a malevolent smirk. "Why do you think I work with Internal Affairs?"

Jack doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "'Cause you're a sore, vindictive prick. Next question."

Hans barely shows a reaction. Annoying, as getting under someone's skin is a specialty of Jack's, so evidently Hans wants to hide it. If he was antagonised at all in the first place. "What made you think the White Fairy was a cop?" he asks, casual.

"No evidence, no witnesses. No-one heard any screaming, so the abduction must have been peaceful. Somehow, the Fairy was able to make the kids trust him, and forget everything they learned about strangers. He knew our tactics, our forensic measures, he was always one step ahead." Jack cocks his head. "What do _you_ think?"

Hans makes an _mm-hm_ sound, and the pen wobbles over the notepad some more. "And how did that affect your judgement, and your relationship toward fellow police officers?" he asks, still noncommittal. Like he's a freaking psychiatrist.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, according to statements from your fellow detectives," he waves the pen toward the folder to his side, "and a few uniformed officers, you became paranoid, and distrustful. You no longer trusted your colleagues, people ready to put themselves in harm's way alongside you. There were complaints about you invading their privacy, going through their desks and lockers, their phones. Pulling people aside to question them in the corridor. There was even an altercation between you and Detective Snotlout - as log-headed as that man may be." The pen is laid down on the table, perfectly parallel to the notepad, and Hans' arms curl around it, fingers lacing together. "You became a one-man inquisition to find this supposed culprit, and in doing so, burned nearly every single bridge you had."

Arms still folded, Jack's shoulders bounce. "What can I say? I don't like it when kids are victims."

Hans chuckles once, and says, "So it would seem. Now...how was Detective Arnulf Southernisle involved?"

* * *

 _*gives snowfire12345 a cookie* **stefalove:** that will be elaborated on, but suffice it to say that Elsa got up to some antics that were illegal. As for Black, that will also be elaborated on. Jack isn't the only one who's got an interesting past. _

_special thanks to: **doomstone, jpbake, hornedgoddess, anastasia, stefalove, snowfire12345, hugs and puppies all around, riverfall** and **kimchee2222** for the reviews!_


	111. one hundred and eleven

_chapter word count: 830 (bad! naughty Furiyan!)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and eleven**

"So Jack," Elsa says, frowning thoughtfully as she assimilates the information. "because he thought the Fairy was a police officer but didn't know whom, instantly distrusted the entire unit?"

She takes a sip just as Nicholas slowly nods; all these questions, all these revelations are murder on the mouth. "Da. All except Aster. To Jack, that grumpy man was beyond reproach. It did not help that Fairy then sent taunting letters to Jack, often to his home, and in those letters refer to him as Jack the Ripper."

Elsa cocks her head. "How did he solve the case?"

Nicholas opens his mouth, but visibly checks himself. Looking down, he snorts with what Elsa can only presume is guilt. "I am embarrassed to say, but I made joke. You see, Jack firmly believed that the Fairy's desire to make parents suffer was core to profile, but in his clouded state he could not clearly see. So I make joke, and say, ' _this Fairy, he must really hate his parents'."_

"What happened then?" she asks with deep interest. Hoping that what he has to say next, blows the story wide open.

Nicholas leans back into the sofa, resting his left arm on the armrest and right arm across the back. "He looked at me like I just blew his mind, then he looked out of my window into unit office. He muttered ' _you son of a bitch',_ and ran out like bat out of hell." The tankard in his left hand completes a small circle as he gestures for emphasis. "Twenty minutes later, he was led to interview room in handcuffs by Detective Bunnymund, and questioned by Internal Affairs an hour after that."

"What did he say?"

"He said that realised that Fairy would not settle for knowledge that parents were suffering, he wanted to _see_ it. To _feel_ it. Absorb it like air and feed on it. So he would need to be there whenever parents come in for update, or to vent their grief. I don't know if you are aware, but many killers like to be close to investigation, so they can steer it away from them, or just because they are curious. There was only one person we knew of who was always present, who hated his parents for being distant, loveless, cold people." Nicholas exhales a long breath through his nose, and looks down at Elsa's feet. Regret and melancholy etch his worn face, whereas Elsa's expression is one of dawning revelation, and a smidgen of ' _saw that coming'._

"Arnulf Southernisle."

Nicholas nods slowly, yet his eyes remain at her feet. "Da," he says softly. "Jack saw him through my window, and chased him up to roof. Next thing we knew, Arnulf was dead on sidewalk. Some say he was pushed, others say he fell. Only Jack truly knows what happened, and it is because of that they cannot disprove his story that he tried to save him."

Elsa cocks her head and looks at him out of the corner of her left eye. "How do you know for sure that Arnulf was the White Fairy?"

This time, his eyes meet hers, and there is a glimmer of conviction that has, up until this point, been absent. "There has not been another kidnapping in months. Elsa, mission-oriented criminals do not stop until they are either dead or until they have completed their mission. Even sadists such as Arnulf. The profile fit him perfectly, and the very fact that no more families have received a toy fairy is testament to how Jack was right. Arnulf was dangerous, ruthless, unfeeling serial child-killer. No matter what unit thinks."

Elsa takes a sip, and immediately after swallowing, asks, "How do you mean?"

Nicholas shrugs like it's obvious, but it's a weary gesture. Time, the world, what he's seen, it's clear to Elsa that it's all too much for the old man. "Arnulf was well-loved. He was like father or big brother to most of the detectives Jack works with. In their eyes, Jack is not only a cop-killer, but someone who took away their role model - however, I.A. cannot prove beyond reasonable doubt Jack murdered him. That, plus his exemplary service and Captain Moors' influential recommendation, means he keeps his job - even _if_ he is pariah in unit."

"Will he ever be able to prove it?"

"Who knows. There was no evidence linking Arnulf to Fairy kidnappings, nor has he ever been able to find bodies. One thing is for sure, Elsa - sooner or later, the truth will come out. Whether Jack is vindicated or guilty, that remains to be seen." Nicholas leans forward, resting his elbos on his knees, and fixes her with a studious, watchful eye. "The dead always speak to us."

Elsa, mid-sip, cocks an eyebrow. That's either a profound and slightly overdramatic metaphysical observation, or a dig at her expense.

* * *

 _it's peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time! my head hurts... **oninoko:** it's technically a cold case. Elsa's parents are six feet under._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, last future of embryo, jpbake, oninoko, hugs and puppies all around, chiqanti ceres, stefalove, lunasnoir, ivy,** and **guest x 3** for the reviews!_


	112. one hundred and twelve

_chapter word count: 403_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and twelve**

Hans' emerald eyes are full of fire, vengeance and fury, but his face is every bit as blank as the wall behind him. The two men stare each other down, though Jack would do anything for a bottle of eye drops - trying not to blink is hilariously difficult. Maybe a whiskey on the rocks, too. In the lower part of his peripheral vision, though unfocused, he can see the pen in Hans' hand shudder. He'll either snap it in two, or drive it into Jack's eye.

"So," Hans finally says, though anger enunciates every syllable, "that is the story you are sticking with? You maintain that you followed my br-" Jack's head tilts a micron, when Hans visibly checks himself. He shouldn't even be conducting the interview due to conflict of interest, so the less he refers to their sibling relationship, the better. "-followed Detective Southernisle to the roof in order to arrest him and take him down for questioning, but in a last act of spite to prevent you from solving his alleged crimes, he jumped off the roof and fell to his death. Despite your attempt to save him. Is that your version of events?"

Jack waits a breath before answering. "That's the story."

"I don't believe you," his once-brother growls.

"Uh-huh," Jack deadpans, folding his arms but not breaking the stare. "In other breaking news: water, wet; sky, blue; you, prick. Sports at ten."

Hans snorts and half-smirks. "That's it, Jack. Dig your own grave."

Leaning forward, Jack fixes him with a searching look, the same one he used on Elsa Black. "See, that's the thing: you wouldn't have pulled me in here and questioned me yourself, making me repeat the same damn statement unless you had something up your sleeve."

"Now why would you think that?" Hans says in a smooth, sly voice.

"Call it a feeling, based on intuition, experience, and the fact that you and I grew up together so I know just how much of a manipulative dickhead you can be." Jack leans back and studies him for a moment, before sliding the chair back with a loud scrape. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got actual police work to do."

"Sit."

Jack freezes at the finality in Hans' voice, and watches him like a sentinel. "You and I are not finished."

* * *

 ** _irisrox:_** _Arnulf is indeed Hans' elder biological brother, and Jack's adopted brother._

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, oninoko, last future of embryo** and **irisrox** for the reviews!_


	113. one hundred and thirteen

_chapter word count: 534_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and thirteen**

"I think it's time I left."

It's abrupt and rude, naturally - though Elsa cares about that as little as she cares about practically everything else in the world - but as soon as Nicholas' explanation drew to a close, the burning compulsion to see Jack had become unbearable.

It's all so clear. The darkness that follows him. The reason Rapunzel divorced him. The difference between his roguish, charming smirk in the photograph and the weary yet angry man in the interview room. She darts to her feet whilst nearly dropping the tankard in her haste to get it on the floor, and practically rushes toward the living room door.

Then, she freezes. There's something missing - isn't she supposed to say something? Perhaps a customary...that's it. She turns. He's still sat. "Thank you for the hot chocolate, Nicholas, and for the information. I think I understand, now."

He watches her carefully, and the very act temporarily roots her to the spot. He wants to say something, she can tell. A burning question, or maybe a statement; one that she has no time for yet feels compelled to stay and answer.

"Elsa, I know what Jack called you."

She lifts her chin. He doesn't even need to say the words for her to know what they are - _malignant narcissist sociopath._ He rises from his couch with far more grace, speed and elegance than she expects of a man his size, and moves to stand a few feet away from her. Still, her eyes do not deviate from his - it's all intimidation. Instinctively, her mind weighs her options, which are either to escape or attempt to kill him, if the situation arises that his intentions are deadly. He is large, and his strength far exceeds hers, but with the proper position and leverage she could theoretically strangle him.

It _would_ be a thrill and technically self-defense - but she made a silent promise on her roof.

"I was watching your affect throughout talk, and I am not sure that is what you are." His hand rises to delve inside that huge beard and scratch his cheek, before he shrugs. "Of course, psychopaths and sociopaths are masters at deceit and faking body language, and making people see what they want them to see. I could be wrong, but in case I am not, and you are not what he says you are…"

Nicholas sighs, and his face falls to one of worry and concern. His black eyebrows climb to his hair. "Jack is very fragile. He is one bad day away from either committing suicide, or becoming the very thing he hunts. Please, whatever your intentions, do not hurt him," he says, shaking his head imploringly, "do not be that bad day."

Elsa lets a breath through her nose, and a warm, reassuring smile climbs her face. One fuelled by resolve. "I don't know for sure _what_ I am. Believe me when I say, however, that there are only three people in this world I care about : myself, my sister, and Jack. Four, if you count my brother-in-law. The rest of the world, Nicholas, can burn."

* * *

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, hornedgoddess, oninoko, jpbake, heartonfire** and **waguneru** for the reviews!_


	114. one hundred and fourteen

_chapter word count: 797_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and fourteen**

Having driven back at a speed that _should_ have resulted in her being arrested, or at the very least receiving a ticket, Elsa clutches her handbag to her shoulder as she pushes open the A.P.D. detective unit's door. Anticipation and tense excitement hold pride of place in her chest, and with a smile on her face she scans the many moving heads in the department. There's a pair of twins giving her a funny look, and a button-nosed, black haired, squat man leaning over a desk, attempting to make the moves on an Asian woman with a purple streak in her black bob. He's evidently self-absorbed or blind, as the woman looks like she's about to drive her pen into his eye.

Her eyes rest on Jack's desk, where a laptop computer rests as well as a disorganised mess of papers and pens. The complete opposite to his partner's, naturally. He's not there, though, which adds a measure of disappointment - she was so looking forward to making him aware she's gone to the trouble of finding out about him. Why he is the way he is. That she cared enough, when caring about _anyone_ is a miracle in itself, to do all this in the pursuit of friendship over a coffee.

Friendship and _more,_ hopefully. Racy dreams and playing with oneself tend to indicate the latter.

She purposely makes her way to his desk, curiosity driving her steps. Her eyes linger on his laptop screen, where the word ' _scopolamine'_ sits idly in the Google search bar. Interesting - he's researching the Devil's Breath. Her gaze falls to the topmost note paper, with the name _CUPID_ underlined at the top, and various attributes listed below. Her heart twinges - another step on his dark road. She makes a decision - more research is needed.

"Can I help you, gorgeous?"

Oh, look. Lechery in the workplace, hanging rather obviously in the arrogant voice of that man she _thought_ was irritating the other detective. Now he's irritating _her._ "Name's Detective Snotlout. You lookin' for someone special?"

Her eyes go contemptuously up into her brow while her lids close, and she hides a quiet groan. Inhaling a quiet, strengthening breath, she straightens up and turns her head to face him. "Why do you ask?"

He smirks, rather arrogantly at that, and spreads his hands like he's God's gift to women. "I think you just found him."

 _I rather doubt that,_ she thinks. "Actually, I was looking for Detective Frost. Do you know where he is?"

Snotlout's smirk drops like a stone, and confusion fights with what looks like petulance in his face. "Why d'you want _him?"_

Elsa plasters a smile, and tries _so, so_ hard not to pull his gun from his holster and blast his brains out over the unit for even _daring_ to be near her. "It's to do with the death of my husband. He was the one who took my statement."

"Ah." Snotlout's jock-like facade drops to that of a childish schoolboy - how reminiscent of Gaston. He wore such a demeanour. Right before Elsa cut the brake lines on his car, of course. "He's kinda busy in the interview room." He straightens up, and the urge to slip a knife into his gut becomes unbearable as the swagger comes back. "You sure I can't help you, beauti-"

His smirk drops again, this time to make way for dawning comprehension. "Wait. You're Elsa Black. The malignant narcissist sociopath."

Well, it's nice to be recognised. "I am." She's quietly amazed he can even pronounce it - spelling it may be a different matter, however.

...and the grin is back. Again. "Awe-some. I love a bit of crazy."

That's it. Elsa considered herself exceptionally patient for this pig of a man, but enough's enough. Her eyes flash with fury, but her smile is as flawless as ever. "Do you know what that means, Detective?" she says with forced politeness.

"Means you're hot."

"It means that if I was what you and Detective Frost say I am, then speaking hypothetically I could slit your throat just enough that you slowly bleed to death whilst I enjoy takeout pizza and a nice wine at _your_ dinner table. Killing you would mean as much to me as choosing whether to wear my ice blue or forest green blouse."

The sight of the colour draining from his slack face is _thoroughly_ rewarding. One has to enjoy the little things, after all.

"Speaking hypothetically, of course." Still smiling sweetly, she cocks her head. "Now, would you be extremely helpful and tell me where to find Detective Frost?"

* * *

 _I think I flanderized Snotlout a bit there. Oh well. **chiqanti ceres:** good eye! **oninoko:** because you want her to. **deadbreath:** I'm gonna take what you say at face value and say: wow, an actual sociopath. It is true, there's varying degrees of it and not all sociopaths are killers or who love to harm others. Did quite a bit of reading on it. High functioning sociopaths and low functioning sociopaths, and then there's the things that run parallel with it. I think it's called antisocial personality disorder, or something. If I may ask, how did you react when you where diagnosed? **hornedgoddess:** you got your mother into OGaV? Okay, now I feel self-conscious._

 _Oh, and happy 1 year birthday yesterday, NH. *eyes cake warily in case of psychopathic knife-wielding stripper*_

 _special thanks to: **doomstone, colormeaya, chiqanti ceres, jpbake, oninoko, deadbreath** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews!_


	115. one hundred and fifteen

_chapter word count: 562_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and fifteen**

In many ways, I.A. questioning is just like garden variety police-on-perp questioning, except the "perp" in the former's case knows all the tricks of the trade, and thus has to be _extra_ careful. Of course, ' _careful'_ isn't in Jack's vocabulary per se, but he knows that if he gives Hans an opening, his adopted brother will exploit it without mercy. So, he keeps his eyes fixed on those emerald greens, their owner leaning with his arms folded against the one-way mirror - give no quarter, for ye shall receive none.

The coiled, auburn-haired snake speaks. "So, that's the version of events you're sticking with, yes?"

Jack half-smirks. "To quote an old Jedi: what I told you was true...from a certain point of view. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Empire Strikes Back."

Hans snorts. "I think you'll find it was Return of the Jedi."

Duh. Like Jack wouldn't know that, it's freaking Star Wars - so he fakes a pout. "Oh? Well, my mistake." Lacing his fingers together and revelling in the cold kiss of the table's metal on his hands as he rests them there, he says, "Well, mine is the only point of view."

Hans' tactic was often to give someone enough rope with which to hang themselves. Jack can see it a mile off - he wants him to finalise his statement so he can be buried with it. The question is - what does Hans have to bury him with? So the trick is to not take any rope, but make Hans think he is. "I have a different theory," he states.

Jack fakes polite interest - no more than, say, ' _oh, can I tell you about my day?'_ level.

"I think you followed Arnulf up to the roof with the intent to murder him." Hans pushes himself off the mirror and slowly, menacingly circles him. Putting on childish innocence, Jack tracks him with his eyes. "I think you were so frustrated, so enraged by what the Fairy had done, and so paranoid with this ridiculous idea he was a cop, that rather than him letting go of your wrist and falling to his death, you decided that the system of due process wasn't enough. You wanted him to pay."

Hans bends down so his face is inches from Jack's, and glares fiercely. "You wanted to take revenge for what the Fairy had done to you, to all those children. You wanted to take the law into your own hands, without any proof, without any facts. You followed the man who mentored you, looked after you, guided you and encouraged you, and pushed him off the edge. I think you _murdered_ Arnulf Southernisle."

Inside, Jack can't deny it. He chased Arnulf to the roof for answers, sure, but not to kill him. He didn't intend to let him drop - but intent can be formed in a single second. Should Hans ever learn that, then Jack's goose is cooked. He takes a breath, and frowns slightly. "That's quite a thick slice of bullshit, Hans. A little stodgy. Kinda hard to swallow - and a little bit salty, too." Leaning forward an inch, he adds, "You got any proof of that to wash it down?"

There's a glimmer in Hans' eyes that answers the question.

Crap.

* * *

 _congratulations to **oninoko** for being the lucky 1000th reviewer! They have a comically-misshapen rock as a prize. This is the last of the pre-written chapters, and OGaV is in a pretty big point, so I'm not sure when the next one will be here - but I'll write them as soon as possible! **ivycastell:** her body count is one. **waguneru:** the questions you want me to answer will be answered during the story._

 _special thanks to: **jpbake, snowfire12345, hornedgoddess, last future of embryo, oninoko, ivycastell, deadbreath, waguneru** and **doomstone** for the reviews!_


	116. one hundred and sixteen

_chapter word count: 649_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and sixteen**

This is the part of the interrogation Jack isn't looking forward to. Hans' methods so far have been adversarial, conflictual. Trying to antagonise and aggravate him into a confession, or into letting something slip that would give him something to get his teeth into.

So he switches to the carrot. The olive branch of peace, the eyes of empathy and understanding. Appealing to Jack's heart, and the brotherly history they once shared. His voice becomes soft, so he can peel at the layer of ice surrounding Jack's heart and mind. He's being the bad cop _and_ the good cop.

"I can see the effect what you've seen has had on you," he says, resting his chin on his thumb while a loose fist curls around his mouth.

"We talking about the serial killers again?" Jack scoffs and rolls his eyes. He gives him unimpressed. "Change the record."

"Not just them."

Hans rises from the chair, circles the table and leans against it just to Jack's right. "Not just them. What about the things you were called in for as a beat cop? The family annihilator, or the mother who had a psychotic break, and drowned her three children because she thought they were the devil's spawn? For someone with such a desire to protect children… I can see how it has chipped away at you."

Jack sighs and looks away. He's not wrong.

Hans smiles. "They say the truth sets you free, Jack. Let it set you free. I think the truth is that the Fairy case was your final straw. All those children disappearing, and you were no closer to saving them than when you started. I think, in a moment of madness, you saw clues that weren't there which led you to an innocent man. Is that right?"

Jack stays as quiet as the grave.

"Extreme emotional disturbance, I believe it's called. One moment where it was all too much for you, so you snapped. It wasn't your fault, you weren't in your right mind. I know that." Hans' voice remains as soft as possible. Inviting. Making him appear as an ally. "I think you saw Detective Southernisle as the Fairy, so you chased him to the roof and pushed him off. I think your moment of insanity was derived from the overwhelming need to protect children."

Jack's brows knit together, and the saliva that filled his mouth thanks to his mind being so focused on the past he forgot how to swallow, is forced down his throat in one long, obvious motion. Could Hans be right? Did he _actually_ murder an innocent man? The thoughts circle his mind, voices whispering over and over again, trying to talk over each other. Avenger or murderer? Justice or manslaughter? His lower lip finds its way between his teeth, and his breaths come slow and easy. What if he _had_ made a terrible mistake?

He stares with unfocused eyes at the table. Guilt creeps into his heart like an unwanted trickle of water. Did he truly go insane? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of _anything._ Was he _really_ in an interview room?

"Tell me the truth, and I'll personally see to it the D.A. is lenient. It's our fault, you see. You were under such pressure, and we kept piling on the cases. We pushed you into your psychotic break. _We_ are to blame. Just tell me how it went down, and together we will make it right."

Jack opens his mouth and sucks in a breath. Hans' body stiffens, and he leans closer.

"You don't have to be alone anymore, Jack."

There it is, that word. Alone.

 _Because that's what you are, aren't you?_

 _Alone._

The door bursts open with enough force to slam against the wall.

* * *

 _hastily-thrown-together update, sorry if it's not up to scratch. just trying to battle a bad bout of self-doubt. Oh hey, alliteration and rhymes!_

 _special thanks to: **oninoko, strike faster than starlight, doomstone, chiqanti ceres, heartonfire, hornedgoddess, deadbreath, waguneru** and **isawaliciaarrow**_ _for the reviews!_


	117. one hundred and seventeen

_chapter word count: 678_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and seventeen**

The woman in the doorway stares at Hans with a fire as fierce as her curly red hair. Clad in an emerald green business number and clutching a mahogany brown suitcase, she fixates her daggers upon him with accuracy scary even to the startled Jack - who's still trying to calm his heart from making music with his voice box.

"Not another word, Detective Frost!" she barks, and steps in just enough to slam the door behind her, still trying to incinerate Hans with her eyes.

Jack is the proud recipient of a suspicious-slash-bemused look from his adopted brother - it's all he can do to lightly shrug and mimic drawing a zip across his lips, thanks to the haze of introspection and second-guessing being ripped away - before both men regard the new arrival with curiosity. "And you are?" Hans asks, tone thick with irritation.

"Merida Dunbroch, defense attorney." She strides up to him, stopping barely two feet away. "Ye're talkin' ta my client without counsel present. Meaning: get tha hell out."

Upon receiving another look from his once-brother, Jack raises his hands and gives him innocent. "Don't look at me," he says, "I just work here."

"Detective Frost did not ask for an attorney," Hans says, voice smooth as silk but with a low tone to it - reserved for situations where he's trying to regain control. "He's not under arrest. You shouldn't be here."

Merida's eyebrows shoot into the cascade of flames masquerading as hair. "Oh, and _you_ should? Three words, laddie: _conflict of interest."_

Jack's eyes, which up until that point had been bouncing between them like watching a leisurely tennis game, rest on Hans just in time to see him flinch. It's barely noticeable, and well-hidden as per usual - but it's there. She _knows._

As it turns out - Merida doesn't miss it, either. She sucks in a breath and displays one of the most hilariously theatrical winces Jack has ever seen, or used, in his life. "Wasnae expectin' that, were ye, laddie? Detective Frost," she turns her head to address him, yet her eyes remain unblinkingly dedicated to lasering a hole through Hans' skull, "did ye ask tae leave at any point?"

"Ayep," Jack says, popping the ' _p'._

"There ye have it, then." She drops the briefcase on the table, causing a metallic thud to echo around the room. "So, unless ye want me ta report ye fer misconduct, I suggest ye do what I told ye-" she marches over to the door, and yanks it open hard enough to make the hinges shriek in terror, "-and get the hell out."

Hans casts him one last glare, and murmurs, "This isn't over," before skulking out like a petulant child - but not without witnessing a little finger-wave from his _almost-_ prey.

Merida takes care to close the door behind her, and then strides over to the free chair. Unbuttoning her suit jacket, she plops herself down in front of him and regards him with a searching look - and a wry smirk.

"Much as I hate to say it, he's right." Leaning his elbows onto the table, Jack laces his fingers together. "I didn't order the defense counsel sandwich with attorney-client privilege filling. Pretty sure I can't afford you - so, what gives?"

Merida's eyebrows bounce, and her smirk deepens. There's a confident fire behind her eyes, a sharp legal mind he knows has won her fair share of cases. She's an idealist, too - there's no weary cynicism in her rosy face. She's in it to win, but only if her client is innocent.

"Oh, ye cannae afford me. I'm doin' this pro bono."

Jack tilts his head, and his face cuts a frown of curiosity. "Wait - I'm getting one of the most badass defense attorneys in Arendelle City for _free?_ Why?"

A feminine chuckle escapes Merida's lips. "Let's just say you and I have a mutual friend."

* * *

 _need to get back into the groove. Hope this was worth the wait._

 _special thanks to: **melodypond77, snowfire12345, whimsical acumen, doomstone, lacoona, waguneru, chiqanti ceres, hornedgoddess, oninoko, heartonfire, riverfall, jpbake, isawaliciaarrow** and **lunasnoir** for the reviews!_


	118. one hundred and eighteen

_chapter word count: 671 (woops)_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and eighteen**

The phone vibrates against the passenger seat. Taking her eyes off the car nestled in the alleyway, Elsa picks it up and glances at the screen - which is when her lips tug into a mischievous smile. Ordinarily she despises predictability, but this is one occasion to give it a pass.

"Elsa Snowfield," she announces into it.

" _Do you have any idea what you've done?"_

She utters an amused chuckle. "Hello to you too, Jack. I must confess - I expected a little more gratitude."

Jack's voice is downright impatient. Oh, how satisfying to get under his skin. " _Thanks. Do you have any idea what you've done?"_

The heads of the two occupants in the car jostle and jerk, as though in heated conversation. "I believe I just saved your career."

Jack scoffs, bitter and furious. " _No, you just put it in more danger!"_

"Oh?" Elsa pouts. The driver has definitely been...what did that awful website call it? Triggered, that's it.

" _Yeah, you did! Now everyone's definitely gonna think I'm hiding something! Defense attorneys don't exactly convey innocence, y'know!"_

Elsa lets loose a feminine, dark snicker. "But you _are_ hiding something, aren't you?"

" _...what?"_

Perfect. He didn't expect that.

The other car's passenger door opens, but the passenger hesitates. Apparently, the driver isn't finished. "Mr. St. North told me everything, Jack. I know about the White Fairy."

 _Now_ his voice is different. Wary. Uncertain. " _You're lying."_

"Arnulf Southernisle."

There's a ragged breath from the other end of the call. Now he knows she's not messing around.

" _What do you want?"_

Elsa giggles - it's almost too easy. "What I want is nothing more than a coffee, Jack. A coffee, and your time."

There's an incredulous scoff. " _You set me up with the best defense attorney in the city for a_ coffee date?"

She bites her lip - date. "No. I called Merida because I saw you were in trouble, and I wanted to help - and I applaud your Star Wars reference, by the way. Merida owes me a favour, so thanks to me, you now can tell her all your dirty little secrets, safe in the knowledge you will be protected by attorney-client privilege. You don't have to hide who you are anymore, Jack."

" _That's way too altruistic for you."_

Elsa pouts. "Come now. I admit, however, I found it inconvenient you were busy being railroaded when I wanted to take you for coffee. So, maybe my intentions are _partly_ selfish."

A deep sigh erupts from the phone, and Elsa gets the impression - enticing and arousing as it is - Jack would have her in a silent, unblinking gaze. Studying her. Assessing her. Letting his mind work wonders on her.

" _One coffee doesn't make us friends."_

Not yet, anyway. Elsa's smirk appears and widens - it's so _gratifying_ to win. "That's all I want. Tomorrow? You can text me where and when - I assume you're not using your phone?"

His voice takes on another sharp bite. " _Sure. After that, leave me alone."_

The call clicks dead - which would have been rude had Elsa not expected it - and just as she delicately returns it to the seat, her eyes register the movement of the passenger finally exiting the car.

The grey-haired man who tried to take her statement, and who was watching Jack being _interrogated_ \- how interesting. Wearing a deep scowl, he storms away from the car and jogs up the steps into the Police Department building. Elsa's eyes track him every step of the way.

Movement from the car attracts her gaze - the driver is pulling out for a left turn. Curious, Elsa tracks _him_ too - and as the traffic breaks enough for the car to move, her eyebrows rise in intrigue as she gets a clear view of his face.

The auburn-haired man who interrogated Jack. The cause of her protective anger. This requires some investigation.

"No promises, Jack," she murmurs.

* * *

 _need that Jelsa fire lighting up again. someone remind me why I fell in love with them in the first place._

 _Oh, and the time between 115 and 116 was quite a while, enough for Elsa to notice Jack in peril and for Merida to arrive._

 _special thanks to: **snowfire12345, rainbowcolorw0w, hugs and puppies all around, oninoko, waguneru, lunasnoir, jpbake** and **hornedgoddess** for the reviews!_


	119. one hundred and nineteen

_chapter word count: 636_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and nineteen**

Jack collapses into his chair and leans his head back as he wipes both hands down his face, lamenting the speed at which his day has gone from normal to batshit crazy. First Hans, then a surprise visit from Merida Dunbroch, and now a freaking coffee date with a murderess - the same damn murderess that just pulled him out of the fire with a legal shield of sky blue eyes and scarlet hair.

Sighing through his nose, he pulls himself up in his chair whilst his left hand dives into the pocket of his slacks, to retrieve the small piece of paper with Elsa's number on, given to him by Merida shortly after he finished using her phone. " _We dinnae want anyone ta snoop around yer call logs, do we?"_

He stares at it for a few moments, before grunting his irritation and shoving it back into his pocket. Hire the best defense attorney in the city so he's free for a coffee date. Sure. Makes _total_ sense. Elsa Black hasn't got an ulterior motive _at all._ Why would she have gone to the trouble of finding his old boss and learning of Arnulf if she wasn't going to use it against him? That's what sociopaths do; find a weakness, an emotional vulnerability and mercilessly exploit it, right?

There's a thought that crosses his mind - what if she's _not_ actually a sociopath?

He huffs loudly, and pulls his chair up to his desk - it's high time he got back to business. Too much time has been lost to ride on the crazy train.

' _Scopolamine'_ still sits patiently in the address bar, so with far more gusto than is necessary, his finger whacks the enter key hard enough for the brief flash of concern that he might have broken it. The screen obediently fills with result upon result, so he goes for the unoriginal route and clicks the first, sticking his chin in the crook of his left hand while he reads.

It isn't long before a familiar chill works its way down his spine, and another piece of the puzzle clicks into place - this substance can't be just for practical use, it _has_ to be part of Cupid's signature.

Movement from near the unit's door catches his eye, briefly distracting him from the unease in the pit of his stomach. Clutching two takeout cups of ' _Starsucks'_ coffee, Aster walks in looking the same as Jack's stomach feels.

"Where you been?" Jack asks almost as soon as Aster pulls up to the desk, and passes one of them toward him.

Aster shrugs like it's no big thing. "Hans was pissing me off, so I went to get us some proper coffee."

"And it took you this long… why?" Jack asks as he takes the cup from him and puts it on the desk.

Aster shrugs again. "Long line, mate."

Jack narrows his eyes just a micron - something feels off. Aster is unusually cavalier; normally there's an aura of _I-take-this-seriously_ around him, but it's like he's reaching Hiccup levels of ' _chilled'._ Factor in his odd behaviour around Aurora's parents and in her room…

Then again, this entire day has been one big clusterfuck, so Jack wonders if his senses are merely on the fritz. "How'd the interrogation go?"

Jack snorts as he returns his attention to the screen, one hand sliding open the drawer for a notepad and pen, and begins to hastily jot down the important words. Things like ' _open to suggestion', 'amnesia', 'zombie-like state'._

"Usual Hans. Presents himself as a friend, but just wants to stab you in the back."

He glances up just as Aster almost chokes on a sip of coffee.

* * *

 _chest infection + insomnia + 5:00am + a certain reader's addiction = why am I still awake updating this. It's probably trash._

 _special thanks to: **katara0301, hugs and puppies all around, oninoko, rainbowcolorw0w, snowfire12345, strike faster than starlight, hornedgoddess, sara99, waguneru, jpbake, trapid, guest 413, aniza** and **isawaliciaarrow** for the reviews!_


	120. one hundred and twenty

_chapter word count: 623_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and twenty**

"So," Aster coughs, looking a little more red in the face than one would expect from choking on coffee, "what's got your noggin ticking?"

"My what?"

"Your cogs. I can see them turning from here."

"Oh." Sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes Aster would speak English for a change. "It's this scopolamine stuff. I found out what it's used for."

Aster, clutching the coffee in his left hand, jerks up his suit jacket so he can perch his butt on the corner of Jack's desk. "So, what, you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?"

Picking up a pen from the side of his keyboard, Jack twirls it between his fingers as he leans back into his chair. "It's mostly used to relieve symptoms of motion sickness, and also post-surgery recovery from anaesthesia. Pretty innocuous."

Aster takes a sip and smacks his lips. "I'm presumin' there's more to it than that, else Cupid wouldn't be using it."

"Mmm." Jack points the pen toward the screen. "Apparently it's prevalent in Colombia, and they call it the Devil's Breath. All you need to do is spike someone's drink with it… and _ask_ them to give you their valuables. The victim loses all willpower and becomes completely open to suggestion. Tell them to give you their wallet, they will. They are under your total control and will do anything you want."

"Jesus… that's terrifying." Aster hesitates midway through lifting the cup to his lips. "Almost like Rohypnol."

"Kinda, except Rohypnol takes away your control of your body. This stuff… it takes away your _mind."_

Jack stares at the computer as the cogs turn in his head, lowering another puzzle into the silhouette-with-a-question-mark of Cupid in his mind.

And then it clicks. It horrifyingly, chillingly clicks.

His eyes go off to a distant, dark place. "I know what he's using it for."

"Controlling his victims?" Aster offers. He's not wrong.

"More than that. What have all our victims got in common?"

With a perfectly deadpan face, Aster says before taking a sip, "They're dead."

For a few seconds, Jack doesn't know whether to laugh or punch him. In the end, he gives off a dry chuckle. "Other than that, genius."

Aster's free hand goes up, and his fingers stand upright as he reels off a mental checklist. "They're disposed of naked. Half a heart carved into their bodies. Abducted in pairs. The men are stabbed multiple times, the women stabbed once. They all…"

It's when Aster trails off, his face slackening in dawning horror that Jack knows he's not just on the same page, but the same paragraph, sentence and _capital goddamn letter._

"Oh God…" One hand moves up to cover his mouth.

"He's using the scopolamine to force his victims to have sex, and they're not capable of consent. He's making them rape each other." Jack feels _sick_ to his stomach at the prospect, and the growing urge to put a bullet in the guy becomes all the more tempting. "Cupid's not just trying to kill love, he's trying to teach us what he thinks love really is."

Aster shakes his head, and the checklist-hand becomes a gesture-hand as he leans toward Jack. "It's not just that - I mean, that's fucked up beyond fucked up, but… you remember what Hiccup said about the stab wounds?"

"Single, efficient strike on the women, but the men were practically perforated?"

"Yeah. What if-" Aster pauses to place his coffee cup near Jack's keyboard, "-what if he's making the women kill the men?"

* * *

 _...and we reach new levels of fucked up._

 _special thanks to: **snowfire12345, doomstone, oninoko, hornedgoddess, jelsamaleval, isawaliciaarrow, waguneru, riverfall, northernfiction, ipizzipyreads, hopelessromantic, lunasnoir, afrakm, stefalove, ebonydeann, jubulicious** and **stellatenedrisx17** for the reviews!_


	121. one hundred and twenty one

_chapter word count: 333_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and twenty one**

Jack leans forward, both to move the coffee cup well out of danger of nuking his keyboard, and because Aster's onto something. "He makes them stab their partners, and then kills the women himself. Deep down they don't wanna do it, so they hesitate… explains the wounds."

"Also explains why there were no hesitation marks on the lesbian couple - he did them both."

The familiar rush of deductive excitement - if that word can even be applied in this situation - courses through him. Now they have a lead through the guy's signature - scopolamine isn't exactly over-the-counter stuff.

"Saddle up," he says, nodding to Aster's chair opposite the desk. "We're about to do some awesome detective work."

Aster grins wryly. "Compilin' lists and makin' calls?"

"And not a gorgeous, smart, blonde hacker with a Spanish surname in sight."

Circling the desk Aster looks at him like he's speaking another language. Jack spreads his hands. " _Criminal Minds?_ You know, the…"

Aster's confused expression persists.

"She… I… never mind. Get listing," Jack says, shaking his head as he turns to the screen. He's surrounded by philistines.

"Alright," Aster replies warily, still weirded out by the reference. "What am I looking for?"

Without looking up from the multitude of search results, Jack answers, " According to this, scopolamine is a controlled drug, and if Cupid is using it as part of his signature, that means he knows how to administer the correct dosage based on body weight. Which means he has experience with and access to it. Which means hospitals."

"I'll check veterinary practices, too." The sound of Aster hammering his keyboard sends a shiver through Jack's spine… that poor, poor keyboard. "You think he's a doc?"

Jack shrugs as a list of Arendelle City hospitals populates the screen. "I think he's not stupid enough to let us find him so easily…"

Under his breath, Jack then adds, "...but he's never met _me."_

* * *

 _friendly reminder: NH is dark and not for the faint of heart._

 _special thanks to: **snowfire12345** and **oninoko** for the reviews!_


	122. one hundred and twenty two

_chapter word count: 862_

* * *

 **noir heart: one hundred and twenty two**

"I wanna file charges! I want that bitch arrested for assault!" The hoodie-clad, cuffed man yells as Gogo pushes him toward the sergeant's desk, where the uniformed man regards them with a raised eyebrow. "She broke my goddamn nose!"

Oh, and his nose is indeed streaming crimson. Part of Tadashi laments not having any saran wrap to protect his car seats on the way back - he's got a date with bleach and a scrubbing brush tonight.

"Yeah?" Gogo says, as she roughly pushes him against the desk, "Well maybe you ought to think twice before breaking into the home of a wushu expert, huh?"

The man utters something unintelligible and likely rude, before whining at her to uncuff him so he can clean up his face. "So who's the new arrival for whom I have to call the first aider?" the grey-haired sergeant drawls, his eyes as bored as his expression.

"Marcus Bennett." Tadashi leans against the desk, smirking at the whimpering man. "This guy's responsible for a string of burglaries all across the west side of town."

"You mean the guy the papers have been on about?" The sergeant gives the culprit a look. "On page _five?"_

"Yep," Tadashi says, chuckling. "Dude's been clever enough to stay ahead of us for a while - until we got a call an hour ago."

"Genius here thought it was a good idea to break into the home of the local _wushu_ instructor," Gogo adds. "Soon as we got there, her wife - _another_ instructor - opened the door, and what do we find? This guy, tied up on the floor, with the lady drinking tea while she was sat on top of him."

"Smart." The sergeant grunts. "Okay, let's get you seen by the doc and get you processed. Welcome to the Hotel A.P.D."

Tadashi leaves him to it, pushing himself off the desk and walking off to a corner of the reception room. Gogo follows his lead, pocketing her hands in her leather jacket whilst the same gum she popped in her mouth that morning is chewed and blown over and over.

She is perfect, in his mind. Sure, she's got a temper - but a wicked sense of humour and a sharp mind, too. An unquenchable thirst for speed, a high standard for perfection, and _damn,_ is the sex amazing. Bonus? She's the hottest woman this side of the Sun.

Every damn time he's around her, when a case isn't forcing his brain to play ball, she turns his mind to lightheaded mush. Every damn time does she send his stomach into knots and his heart a-flutter. Every damn time does his world fall away when her eyes meet his.

"So, celebration drink?" she suggests, shrugging like it's no big thing.

"I have a better idea," Tadashi says, grinning as he pulls out a pair of tickets from the pocket of his jacket. Frowning curiously, those beautiful eyes flick down to the pieces of paper in his fingers, before they widen in satisfying shock.

"Oh my God! These are Arendelle Roller Derby tickets! How did you—I thought they were sold out!"

Tadashi's smile widens as his heart leaps into his throat. "Bought them as soon as they went on sale. Been holding onto them since. What do you say—you and me, high speed roller skating, brutal knockdowns and hot dogs?"

She practically snatches them from his fingers, beaming with delight and excitement. "Are you _kidding?_ This is awesome! I would love…"

Maybe he can summon the courage to tell her his feelings whilst skaters get knocked on their asses. Maybe she'll reciprocate. Maybe Hiro will get off his back about getting the girl of his dreams.

But then her face falls, and her brow knits together. She looks not _at_ the tickets, but _through_ them… and Tadashi's heart begins to sink.

"Tadashi…" she murmurs, barely audible over the bustling noise of the busy reception, "this isn't a date, is it?"

And then his heart feels like someone's squeezing it to death on its way down. It was a hell of a gamble… but still. A woman like her was worth a try, right?

Except his detective skills, his reading of body language tells him he's already crashing and burning just after takeoff. There's no hope in her eyes, only caution. No optimism, only uncertainty.

No chance.

He masks his disappointment behind a smile, and his heartache behind a casual chuckle. "Of course not. Just two friends-with-benefits watching a celebration game."

She studies him for a few moments, as though working out whether to believe him or not. Lying to someone is bad enough, but to a fellow detective? Their professional relationship's at stake, on the other hand. Making things awkward would be a terrible thing.

There's a few more moments before she seemingly makes a decision, with a smile and a little bob of her feet - and his heart aches all the more. "Great! Pick me up at six?"

Tadashi smiles, and hurts.

"Six it is."

* * *

 _Poor Tadashi._

 **noircorda** _is completely on the money. Scopolamine isn't anywhere near as dangerous as TV drama makes out, at most it zombifies you and makes you open to suggestion. I just decided to exercise my creative licensing to amp up the danger._

 _special thanks to:_ **snowfire12345, jpbake, oninoko, ipizzipy reads, noircorda** and **waguneru** _for the reviews!_


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